Of Endings and New Beginnings
by Dumedion7256
Summary: All good things must come to an end...so the saying goes. A young Asari seeks her place in the wider world, picking up a few friends and enemies along the way. (Bioware owns ME, I write for fun, yadda yadda) Rated M for language/violence/maybe sex later who knows
1. Chapter 1

She trained in the ruin of a long forgotten courtyard, the blade in her fist _humming_ as it cut through the pre-dawn mist. The fog was thick – drowning the site in grey, clinging to her armored body in droplets of sea-water. The roar of distant waves crashing into the cliffs punctuated the silence – a steady backbeat to the rhythm of her movements.

Broken, time-worn edifices of stone watched her blade-work; priceless relics of an ancient race, silent and mysterious. She paid them no heed. The wonders of the distant past had long since ceased to capture her interest – unlike her mother.

 _Protheans,_ she cursed silently as she struggled to keep her focus. The cracked and broken stone-work underfoot lay under a fine dusting of sand, treacherous at the speed she moved.

Her left foot slipped as she executed a high overhead slash, mid-way through the Thirty-forms. She forced herself to stop with a huff of annoyance. That was the second time she allowed her focus to slip this morning.

Dark emerald eyes sought out the nearest statue – a crooked, one armed thing of eroded stone barely recognizable as anything worthy of reverence. Her face pulled into a scowl as she studied it, wondering how something so old and mundane could possibly drive someone to devotion.

 _A whole galaxy to see, to explore – and I'm stuck here, digging through your rubbish._

Dark energy wreathed her body, and with a defiant roar she charged the brittle stone. It shattered under the onslaught, blasting chips and shards in every direction. She stood in the wake of the petty attack, sheathing her sword into the scabbard on her back with an annoyed flourish.

" _What was that_ ," her mother's worried voice called over the com-link.

She took a deep breath before answering. "Nothing, mother - I'm fine." _Until you notice one less statue in this graveyard._

" _If you're finished, I have breakfast ready_ ," her mother continued.

Valyria T'Soni raised her face to the heavens as she closed her eyes, listening to the distant waves. She fought the urge to sigh again. She loved her mother – loved her brilliance, her compassion, her protectiveness…but _something_ called to her beyond the sad ruins she constantly sought. She wasn't a child anymore – she _yearned_ to see the places and people her mother only spoke about.

 _One day,_ she thought, then turned from the site and headed home.

They had found this backwater of a world four weeks ago, scouting for eezo deposits in the Auruglan Cluster. Bereft of civilization – or eezo – it held so little value that it wasn't even named on any of their astrometric charts. It was an island of continent-sized deserts wrapped in shallow, salty seas; a world in its death throes, incapable of colonization and therefore useless to their needs.

Until close-range scanning revealed the existence of these ruins.

Her mother had nearly jumped out of her skin with excitement – but she was forced to stifle a groan.

They didn't need much, as it was just the two of them – but their supplies _were_ limited, and dependent on finding eezo or habitable worlds or salvage – _something_ – to earn them credits. This was not the first time their scouting runs had been waylaid by her mother's obsession with the past.

Valyria found herself missing Thessia more than ever.

 _Forty years,_ she thought bitterly, kicking a rock as she walked through the fading mist. The sun was rising now, a searing ball of flame – larger than any sun she had walked under – burning the fog away. It wouldn't be long before the oppressive heat made the world nearly unbearable.

Four decades of wandering the cosmos. Her mother claimed that it would be better for them – peaceful, away from the endless bickering of the galaxy and ruins of lifeless cities marring the home-world. She had been younger then, knowing only that her mother was in pain, and it hurt her to see it.

So they left – entrusting her aunt with the family estate and finances, meager as they were.

She had learned much from her mother during their years of self-imposed exile. Little by little, she pieced together the half-whispered legends surrounding the T'Soni name; legends her mother refused to acknowledge when she was a girl – things she barely believed, even now.

A race of ancient machines, intent on galactic genocide. A young archeologist, who found the key to their destruction locked away in a Prothean vault. A great war – _the War –_ waged by a united galaxy with her mother at the heart of it.

It all seemed too impossible to be true. Her mother was many things, but a hero of such _scale_?

She shook her head, smiling at the absurdity.

 _One day,_ she thought again, _perhaps she will tell me everything._

* * *

Liara T'Soni grumbled as she typed away on her omni-tool, trying to re-calibrate the automated sprinklers in the small hydroponics bay of the _Farseer._ The lab VI had glitched again, threatening their limited supply of vegetables with too much water and not enough nutrients. Once again, she faced the unwanted truth: the ship was showing its age, in need of maintenance beyond her ability.

She wished for Tali, cursing the stupid machine again.

"Mother?"

Liara jumped at her daughter's voice, too distracted in her work to notice her approach. " _Goddess, Valyria,"_ she fumed as her daughter stifled a laugh. "Make some noise next time or I swear I will warp you."

"Uh huh," Valyria took a step back, folding her arms over her chest.

Liara sighed as she shook her head. _She's just like her father_.

"The VI again," Valyria nodded to the plants.

"Yes," Liara huffed, "it seems to be code-degradation. Simple enough to fix, but time consuming," she paused, gesturing to the galley beyond. "Go eat – I will be there shortly."

Her daughter didn't move, so she arched a brow at her.

"I warned you two weeks ago that it needed to be replaced," Valyria deadpanned.

Liara managed to keep from sighing. _How many times have I heard that tone before? Valerie is probably laughing herself silly somewhere._ "Yes, I remember. Please go eat, and let me work," she managed to keep her frustration in check, barely.

Her daughter sighed and stormed off – grumbling under her breath. Liara closed her eyes, willing her heartbeat to slow. The conflict between them had grown steadily during the last few years – to the point that they were nearly always arguing over _something_. It was beyond tiring – it was driving them apart.

 _She is nearly ninety years old and wanting to venture out on her own -_ that was the truth of it. She remembered what seemed like a lifetime ago, when she stormed out on her own mother. She left her to seek the wonders of the past – and only saw her once again, on the day she died.

 _I don't want that for Val,_ she closed her eyes and hung her head. _She still has so much to learn._ She dismissed the thought, eyes narrowing as she focused on the task at hand. They wouldn't survive very long without food, after all.

" **Warning – proximity alert** ," the ship's VI droned suddenly, as alarm klaxons lit up in bright yellow pulses.

Liara cursed, running out towards the bridge. Valyria shouted for her as she passed, then ran to catch up. She felt her heart racing in her chest as they scrambled to activate the de-powered systems. Beyond the curved canopy of the bridge, a lone craft hovered, weapon mounts tracking the _Farseer_ as it landed.

It was an ugly junker of a ship – a conglomeration of different components fused to a beaten hull in haste and efficiency with no regard for aesthetics.

 _Pirates._

"Mercs," Valyria hissed in the same moment, as they turned to meet each others eyes.

"Stay calm – let me handle this," she told her daughter as she left the bridge at a brisk pace, checking the thermal clip to the Tempest sub-machine gun holstered at her hip.

"Mother, we can't –"

"Don't argue with me Valyria," she interrupted, spinning to face her. "Stay here – be ready. Promise me." Her tone was even, calm, but laced with iron. Valyria nodded, after a lengthy pause. Liara forced a smile, for her sake, as she gripped her arm with her free hand. "It will be okay, love."

"I'll be ready," her daughter promised.

* * *

A dozen armed and armored figures awaited her in a semi-circle around the boarding ramp extending from the belly of the _Farseer._ Liara's eyes flicked between them rapidly – noting their weapons and positions. She was no stranger to dealing with thugs – they were a constant threat throughout the galaxy.

She chastised herself for allowing them to get this close, however – saving fuel and energy for their extended stay had forced her hand. _Too late to change that now,_ she thought bitterly.

"Well, well, well," one of them laughed, a lanky, unclean human male dressed in the tattered remains of scavenged military gear. He hefted an antiquated Avenger-model rifle over his shoulder. "What have we here boys?"

Various whistles and cat-calls ensued.

Liara stopped at the edge of the ramp, cocking her head at them, eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

The man grinned, flashing yellowed, rotting teeth. "Strait to business," he sneered, "whatever happened to foreplay, eh boys?"

More laughter. Liara endured it in stoic silence. _Imbecilic animals._

"Tell ya what honey," the man grinned. "Seein' as you're all alone, how 'bout we take you up outta here – let ya get to know the crew for awhile – then we can come back and discuss some trade opportunities."

Liara fought the urge to roll her eyes at the gross innuendo. "I suggest you leave – before someone gets hurt," she spoke slow and calm, as if to a child.

She waited until they started laughing again. "Lady, you got some –"

She flared with dark energy as her barrier went up, sending out a cascading wall of biotics a heartbeat later. Half of them were caught in the shock-wave, thrown off their feet, limbs snapped as they pin-wheeled back into the junker that carried them here. Several left bloody smears where their heads and bodies hit the rusted hull.

The others reacted slowly from shock – most ran for cover – save two that stood frozen in place. She locked them both in a singularity, drawing her Tempest and shredding them with bursts of automatic fire. Blood sprayed, misting the sand as their flailing bodies went limp mid-air.

 _Four left._

 _Pufts_ of sand blew up at her feet as she charged. All four were firing blind from behind the angled nose of the dropship – hitting nothing but sand and denting the hull of the _Farseer_. She threw a lash with an outstretched hand, pulling two out of cover. She sprayed them with a hail of fire, ejecting the heat-sink with a hiss before reloading calmly.

 _Two left._

" _Eat this_ ," someone screamed as something black and small rolled towards her. She enveloped herself in another barrier, just as the grenade detonated.

The blast rocked her, driving her to a knee. One of them had circled behind, firing wild with an outstretched pistol. She hissed as a round clipped her shoulder – setting her flesh searing with agony. She spun, spraying him with bullets from shoulder to hip.

"Vinne! No!" the last one screamed at her, slamming into her back. They rolled in the sand, then she felt herself being picked up and slammed into the hull of the dropship. Her vision swam with the impact, and she felt two searing, sharp stabs to her guts.

He held her, pinned to the stinking hull of the ship, a blade rammed through her torso.

"Killed my brother, you blue-skinned _bitch_ ," he drooled through split lips, rotten teeth and stinking breath inches from her face.

"Your turn," she hissed through clenched teeth, as her eyes and body flared with energy. She reached out with her power, gripped the man's head, and _pulled._ Bone fractured. Cartilage and tendons popped. Skin ripped and blood vessels stretched to the point of rupture. His wail of agony turned to painful gurgles, then finally ceased all together – as his mangled head fell off.

She cried out then, struggling to free herself as cold weakness spread through her. _No, no, no. Not now, not like this. "Val…Valyria…,_ " she choked.

Her eyes were getting heavy. She heard her running down the ramp, screaming for her. Small hands grip her face. A terrified voice tells her to hang on. She doesn't feel the blade wrenched free – doesn't realize how she's fallen. She can't feel her legs, can't breathe. _Have to tell her. Have to show her!_

With the last of her strength, she reaches up to cup her daughter's face.

"Em…brace…eternity."

* * *

She is standing next to her mother in a room of beeping machinery and bright lights – looking into a vertical tank of bubbling liquid – and the floating remains of what was once a person within. Her mother stands, barely, one hand pressed against the glass surface, sobbing uncontrollably.

" _Mother,"_ she asks, terrified and confused.

Another human enters, a woman – dark hair, sharp intelligent eyes, slender and graceful. Sadness pulls at her movements, and she hesitates before speaking in a quiet but strong voice. "I am so sorry, Liara. I did everything I could for her – the Crucible…," her voice trails off as she turns to wipe her face.

"H-how long," she hears her mother ask, her broken voice barely more than a whisper.

"Once the machines are off, not long," the dark haired woman answers. "Minutes."

" _Mother, what is this,"_ Valyria screams.

"Give me a moment," her mother asks.

"Of course."

"Miranda...thank you."

The human nods as more tears slide from her eyes. She leaves as quietly as she came.

Valyria watches as her mother approaches the tank, leaning her head into the glass. She sobs, utterly defeated, gripping the tank just to stay on her feet. The burnt and broken body within gives no response as it floats - a corpse haloed by scorched crimson hair.

" _Shepard…please,"_ her mother croaks. " _don't make me…do this."_

"Shepard," Valyria whispered. _The Shepard?_

Her mother sniffs, breathing heavily, trying to gain some control. "I wont do it, Shepard. _I can't,"_ she pauses, "not without you."

Valyria's eyes widen – as she witnesses her mother's darken. " _Embrace eternity!"_

* * *

 _Darkness._

 _She feels her, all around her, barely there but_ there _nonetheless. She reaches for her – and in the moment their minds connect, she knows. She feels so tired, so weary, but overjoyed that the ones she cares most about will live on. She feels terrible aching shame for what she had to do – of the sacrifices paid along the way. Above all – regret for a promise unfulfilled, to the one soul she loved above all others._

 _She asks permission, to ease the pain._

 _It is given freely, with all the love she has, and more._

 _Goodbye, Valerie. I love you so much._

 _Always…_

 _She reaches out again – deeper – down into the very genes of the dying woman…_

* * *

Valyria gasped as she returned to herself, cradling her mother's bleeding body. She cried freely – uncontrollably. " _Mother,"_ she sobbed, " _why didn't you tell me?"_

"Black…box," Liara grunted, "…answers. I…love…you."

The life in her eyes faded with her last breath. Valyria T'Soni, daughter of Liara T'Soni and Valerie Shepard, screamed her anguish at the sun-scorched sky.


	2. Chapter 2

She moved her mother's body into the _Farseer_ , after finding the strength to move again. Liara lay upon the single examination table, eyes closed, as if she merely slept. Her daughter wiped the blood from her face, cleaned the gash on her head, fighting back the tears and rage all the while.

Blood, her _mother's_ blood, dripped to the deck in a steady rhythm.

Valyria took a deep breath, trying to fight the constant spasms wracking her body. The tears wouldn't stop – they just wouldn't.

Her hands shook as she began to peel the clothes from the body. The brutal wounds to her torso and abdomen made her wretch on instinct – unable to stomach the sights and smells. Fresh agony gripped her inside, merciless in its crushing totality.

She sank to her knees, covering her mouth in a vain attempt to stem the tears and mucus flowing from her face. Wisps of dark energy curled from her body as she doubled over, kneeling in a pool of cooling blood. As the torment reached a crescendo – unable to hold any more – she purged the contents of her empty stomach, groaning through gasps of breath.

 _Despair is your enemies greatest weapon - do not let them use it._

Her mother wrote that, in one of her dozens of journals.

Something clicked into place – a strength and clarity she didn't know she possessed. A plan for vengeance formulated in her mind as she fought to control her body. A plan to ensure no one would share her fate – a plan to see _justice_ done.

* * *

Karl Drixon cursed his luck for the thousandth time as he paced the stifling confines of the cell. He should have seen it coming – should have taken care of that _bastard_ Vincent and his piece of shit brother months ago. But he didn't, and now he was paying for it – locked up in his own base, stripped of his gear and weapons, left to rot while _his_ crew ran amok doing gods-knew-what.

 _Goddammit,_ he cursed again, beating his fist against the rusty steel wall. "I'm gonna kill every last one of 'em when I get outta here," he promised.

Drixon was a burly man, thick in the chest and shoulders, muscular arms covered in tattoos. His muscle shirt was stained in grime and old blood in equal measure, a legacy of the beating he took during the mutiny. He sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his ripped and faded fatigues as he leaned against the cell door. _Fucking bastards,_ he scowled.

He certainly was no _saint_ – a life of crime, survival, and _questionable_ pleasures had seen to that – but he'd rather die on his feet as a man than caged up like a beast. "Hnn," he grunted. _The Beast. Hope the bastards don't feed me to that fucking thing._

He rested his shaven head back against the cold metal door and considered his options.

That is when he felt the rumble of the first explosion.

* * *

The _beast_ hung in the darkness of the deepest pit, suspended by chains, impaled by iron hooks through his shoulders, wrists and legs. Dull agony wracked his body – bereft of armor, the weakling _humans_ had toyed with him for weeks. They pried his plates off in places, crude knives carved into his thick hide – while they laughed and jeered.

He laughed at them at first – after the roars and threats failed. He had struggled for days, testing his bonds, fighting against the pain, but his strength was failing now. He was tough, like all his kind, but the body could only take so much punishment.

The greatest insult came when they started to feed him – like a damned _pet._ Every so often, one of them would enter the pit, and shove a stinking piece of meat into his face. He knew the smell – knew _blood_ and bad meat on instinct. They shocked him when he refused. A crude but effective collar bolted to his neck delivered a surprisingly powerful jolt of current.

So he ate.

And bided his time.

He counted the seconds with the steady _drip_ of his own blood, for what seemed like an eternity.

Everything changed when the distant sounds of battle echoed from above.

* * *

She had stripped the bodies of weapons and grenades, after tending to her mother. She left her in the _Farseer,_ sealed in a cryo-bag, vowing to return. The drop-ship was empty – save a few dry rations and ammo crates, but easy enough to pilot. She thanked her mother for teaching her the fundamentals, all those years ago.

A solitary nav point blinked in the ship's computer – out on the other side of the system, deep in the asteroid field separating the fourth and fifth planets. _The Pit –_ the navcom identified it. She set a course for it immediately after take-off.

For two hours she accessed the ships computer – searching for any details on what 'the Pit' was. She was not disappointed. She found everything from hangar access codes to an entire blueprint layout, as well as ship identifiers and IFF frequencies.

 _Idiotic savages,_ she shook her head at their stupidity, downloading everything into her omni. _Getting in should be no trouble now._

With nothing else to do, Valyria sat back and ran her plan over in her head.

 _You bastards die today,_ she promised.

It was an old mining facility – anchored to the cratered face of an oblong rock nearly three miles long. Valyria tensed as it came into visual range, emerald eyes scanning over the displays for any sign of threats. When none appeared, she broadcast the hangar codes, smirking after receiving a prompt acknowledgement.

" _Bring her in slow this time, asshole,"_ a gruff voice crackled over the comm.

She hesitated, seized by panic. _Should I answer? What do I say,_ her mind raced. "Heh, screw you," she replied in her best approximation of masculinity, then cursed her own stupidity immediately after. Ignoring the repeated questions fired at her over the comm, she focused on guiding the ship into the open hangar.

As it settled onto the deck, she was on her feet before the engines finished cycling down. _Here we go._ She drew her sword in a sharp pull, right hand flexing around the grip as her left drew her mother's Tempest. Outside, a heavy _clang_ of metal and roar of air told her the hangar was sealed and pressurized. As the whine of the engines faded, she hit the release panel for the side hatches, concealed herself from view, and waited.

Footsteps – followed by the thud of a heavy door closing. "Vinnie, Red," a man called out. "Quit fuckin' about, assholes," the voice grew louder, closer. The interior of the drop-ship was dark, powered down. She waited. The _click_ of an illumination torch reached her, followed by sweeping pans of light – and the tell-tale crunch of a pistol being racked. " _Quit fuckin' about,"_ the man shouted.

 _Come on – come on,_ Valyria gritted her teeth.

She moved as soon as his head peaked into the compartment, a single blur of movement and it was done. Her sword fell – slicing through his neck without resistance. The body fell with a _thump,_ pistol and flashlight clattering to the deck. She watched the head bounce and roll away to fall out the other side of the ship.

A moment of shock seized her. It wasn't the first life she'd taken – they had defended themselves from predators before – it _was_ the first she'd taken without provocation. Valyria felt her heart harden as she gazed at the man's headless corpse, twitching as a pool of blood spread out from underneath it.

 _Too late to turn back now,_ she set her jaw in determination.

She peaked outside. The hangar was empty – with a single door leading into the compound. Recalling the layout she studied, it lead to the hab blocks and kitchen areas and ultimately the control center at the heart of the complex.

She brought the Tempest up and moved to the door.

The smell assaulted her senses as soon as she opened it – a vile pervasive _rankness_ – fouler than anything she'd ever known. The hallway was littered with debris; empty ration boxes, old musty rags, and lined with conduits of tubing. Solitary lighting strips on the ceiling flickered every six feet. Dull echoes of throbbing music and shouted conversation led her in.

A door sat at the end of the corridor, half open and askew on its hinges. Slowing her pace, crouched low, she crept up to it, plucking one of the grenades from the bandolier draped over her chest. Voices could barely be heard over the music as she looked through the opening. Some manner of foyer lay beyond – opening into a larger room, a common area.

Pausing to take a breath, she primed the grenade and heaved it inside, sheathing her body in energy.

It blew seconds later, rocking the door into her. She kicked it open with a snarl – and charged the first human her eyes found.

Chaos reigned.

The grenade blew near the center of the cluttered chow hall, blasting shrapnel in all directions. Curses and shouts of alarm rang out – overpowered by sporadic weapons fire. A streak of purplish energy raced across the room in a blink, slammed into a man and detonated in a swirling miasma of dark energy. Before his body had hit the wall of rock behind it, she leapt – lashing out with her blade to impale another. The Tempest sprayed in a sweeping arc, mowing down three others.

She stood in the aftermath, chest heaving as she reloaded. The alarm sounded as she strode off towards the control room seconds later.

* * *

Monic huddled with the other girls in the room – shaking with every gunshot, scream and explosion. There were seven of them, dressed in rags, bound by chains, all of various ages from thirty to as young as fourteen. All of them were terrified.

The door was still locked, even as the dust rained from the ceiling and the lights flickered with every rumbling blast.

" _What's happening,"_ the girl, Emily, cried out.

Monic hushed her, cradling the weeping girl to her chest. "Quiet now," she whispered through dry lips. "Just be still," she hated the way her voice broke.

Someone roared just outside the door, followed by a thundering staccato of weapons fire. Monic watched in growing terror as a pool of crimson spread from under the heavy metal door. The girls around her whimpered, covering their dirty faces.

" _I don't want to die here,"_ Emily sobbed.

The _thunk_ of the door lock opening sounded like a tolling bell. Every one of them flinched as the door was flung open, slamming into the rock wall of their dusty room. Monic blinked in confusion at what she saw. A lithe figure, silhouetted by the flickering light, splattered in blood.

 _An Asari?_

She carried a blade held low, dripping with crimson, and raised the gun that was pointed at _them_ to the ceiling. Her head snapped back and forth between them and down the corridor.

"Can you walk," her voice was strained, urgent.

"Y-yes," Monic stammered, hesitant to accept the hope creeping into her chest. "Who are y-"

"No time to explain," the Asari hissed as she stepped into the room and slashed with her sword. Their chains fell free. "Get to the hangar – there is a drop-ship there with weapons. Seal yourselves in, and wait for me. If I don't reach you in ten minutes, use it to escape," she knelt as she spoke.

Monic nodded, thanking her through trembling lips.

" _Go,"_ she told her, rising to her feet.

Monic stood, turning to help the others. "Wait, who are you," she asked, but their savior was gone.

* * *

Valyria raced through the winding corridor, pausing at every junction, every door. Seeing those poor women fueled her anger – she hoped they made it to the hangar in one piece. Her eyes narrowed as she forced herself to focus. More of the vermin may still live.

The control room looked as run-down as the rest of the complex, barely functional but for the most vital systems. _What manner of people would live in such filth,_ she cursed them again as she sheathed her sword and swiped her hand over the display to clear it of dust.

 _Time to end this._ Her eyes snapped up every few seconds to search for threats as she manipulated the reactor controls – a simple matter of choking off temperature venting and coolant – then overriding all the fail-safes. Bright warning signals dominated the screen moments later, before she swung the Tempest around and sprayed the terminal to uselessness.

A dull _thudding_ caught her attention in the silence that followed. She moved to the door, straining to hear, as she pulled her sword free. _Thud-thud-thud._ Brow knitted with confusion, she let the sound lead her down an adjoining tunnel, to a locked metal door with a small window. A fist pounded the thick, cracked glass as she approached.

A speaker dangled from its housing on the door, showing spliced wires. She clicked it on, turning to watch for threats from behind. She had no cover here, so she kept her barrier up, flooding the tunnel in violet light.

" _Let me outta here,"_ a gravely voice barked from the speaker.

"And why would I do that," she answered, quietly.

" _Look, honey, there's a locker in the next room packed with goodies – creds, weapons, you can have it – just lemme out, an' I'll show you."_

Valyria fought the urge to snarl. "You think I'm here for _money_?"

" _I don't give a shit_ what _you're here for lady – open the_ fucking _door!"_

 _Fat chance,_ she thought as she shook her head. "I don't think so," she told him instead, moving away.

" _You fucking cunt – you betta hope I die in here, 'cause I swear by everythin' holy I'll-"_ a backward chop of her sword severed the power lines to the speaker, ending the tirade.

Valyria pressed on.

* * *

The _beast_ strained to listen in the dark, envy coloring the rage burning in his hearts. A furious battle raged above – beyond his reach – and it lit fire in his veins. To die in battle was the only death he ever wanted, not this sad excuse for an end. Strung up like an animal – weak and useless – he roared in shame into the void.

Piercing bright light flared moments later, blinding in its intensity. A small, lone figure stood in the corona of pain, armed and armored. The _beast_ snarled in challenge, though it sounded weak even to his ears.

" _Goddess,"_ a soft voice whispered.

He barked a laugh at _that_. "I got…your _Goddess…_ dangling between my legs… _pyjack."_

He heard the soft caress of metal on leather as the figure sheathed the sword at its back. It walked closer, and he realized that it was a girl – just a _girl_ – and an Asari at that. _Ancestors, forgive me. I'll never live this down._

"What have they _done,_ " anger colors her words, as her eyes wander over him.

His lips pull back in a snarl – resentful and shamed at her scrutiny. " _Save your pity for the weak –"_ he howls, leaving his head swimming after. Grey creeps into his vision – as cold numbness pulls at his limbs. _Dying…body...shutting down. Show no...weakness._

" _I. Am. K-kro…gan,"_ he managed, before true darkness took him.

He fell limp as the figure outstretched her hand, enveloping his body in dancing violet energy. With a grunt of effort, she held him there as she shot the chains off one by one. Once freed, she turned and started the long walk back to the hangar, dragging the weight of a krogan with her biotics.

* * *

Monic held the pistol in her shaking hands as she watched outside the hatch for movement. She pleaded with whoever or _whatever_ might be listening in the next life for the Asari to hurry. She had no idea how much time had passed – barely remembered fleeing through the stinking compound.

"Is she coming," one of them asked.

"I don't see her," Monic snapped back. "Stop asking for shits sake!"

"We should just go," Emily whined.

"You know how to fly this thing," Monic gestured around them, "cause I sure as hell don't!"

Dull purplish light lit the gloomy interior of the drop-ship, breaking the discussion as they all crowded the hatch window.

"Its her-", "Open the door!", "What _is_ that?", several of them said all at once. Monic hit the access panel with the palm of her hand, then moved off to help their savior.

She was limping, straining under the weight of her own wounds and the krogan she dragged behind. "Make…room," she grunted through clenched teeth, lifting the prone alien with both hands haloed in crackling energy. As he came to rest on the deck of the drop-ship, Monic watched her nearly keel over as the corona of power surrounding her body sputtered out of existence.

"Are you okay," she reached for her hesitantly.

The Asari nodded, chest heaving as she pushed her back into the ship. "We have to go," she gasped between breaths. "Not much time."

"C'mon," Monic pulled her up into the ship, then sealed the hatches as the Asari stumbled to the cockpit. Her eyes darted to the massive, naked, bleeding body on the deck.

"What can we do for him," she called to her.

"Look for medi-gel," she answered over the whine of the engines powering up, "And hope he doesn't wake up angry."

"Right," Monic huffed as she ran shaking hands through greasy hair, swaying as the ship lifted . " _Look for medi-gel,"_ she shouted over the noise to the others, silently thanking whatever saint or angel sent an Asari to save them.

As the drop-ship cleared the asteroid field moments later, a bright flash of light enveloped the Pit – as its reactor detonated in nuclear fire.


	3. Chapter 3

Valyria shielded her eyes from the flash of The Pit's destruction with one hand and a grimace. _Everything_ hurt, her head most of all. The rampage through the vile pirate stronghold had been brutally fast by necessity – forcing her to the limits of endurance and beyond. _I feel as if I could sleep for a week,_ she thought wearily.

She leaned her head back as she closed her eyes, released a shuttering breath. Despite it all – she felt _good_ to have helped others in need. She sat up with a jolt as she remembered them, still in the back, likely scared and injured.

Locking the ships autopilot, she stood, wincing as pain flared from her battered body. _I need to get stronger if this becomes a habit,_ she thought with a smirk as she limped to the passenger compartment.

They were fussing over the krogan when she entered, but all movement ceased at her arrival. In better light, she looked at each of them – every one was battered, bruised, filthy and gaunt. Lank, unwashed hair fell before their faces. Stained rags, ripped in places, hung from malnourished bodies.

Yet every set of eyes looked to her, watered with unashamed tears.

Valyria leaned on the bulkhead to keep her balance under such palpable gratitude.

"My name is Valyria," she greeted them.

They talked as they worked on the krogan, hesitantly at first, but gradually the introductions proceeded. They told her their stories – how they were captured, who they had lost, how they had suffered. The krogan was a mystery to them all; none of them had seen or heard him. They managed – between the lot of them – to prop his bulky torso up against a bulkhead, after using what little medi-gel that was found on his wounds.

 _At least he stopped bleeding,_ Valyria thought.

"Your side," one of the girls – Tabitha – gestured to her.

Valyria looked under her left arm, only then realizing the deep gash cut into her hard-suit. Light purple blood was trickling from the wound, causing her to hiss in pain as if _looking_ at it made it real to her body. She shook her head with a grimace, pressing the wound with her hand. "Just a scratch – I'll be ok," she told Tabitha.

Monic stood, after draping a dirty sheet over the krogan to preserve his dignity, her dark eyes haunted and drawn with exhaustion. "What happens now," she asked as she fell into one of the restraint seats.

Valyria lifted a shoulder. "We're headed for my mo-", she paused, catching herself. " _My_ ship," she continued, "it has FTL capability, supplies, rations…enough for awhile, anyway. A few weeks, if we are careful. We will make for the nearest GCA colony, if you all agree."

The Galactic Council Alliance was born from the ashes of the Reaper War, nearly a century ago. It was the ruling government in all civilized space – in theory.

"I don't even know _where_ we _are_ ," Monic huffed. "Any place is better than _here._ "

There were general murmurs of agreement.

"Okay," Valyria nodded, wincing again as she stood. "we should arrive soon. Keep watch over him," she gestured to the krogan, replacing her hand quickly when she noticed her glove was slick with blood.

"Wait," Monic called to her as she turned back to the cockpit.

"Yes?"

"Who sent you to find us? Was it the Alliance?"

Valyria frowned as she shook her head sadly. "No. That… _foulness,_ " she spat the word, "was a haven to the men who used this gunship to prey on the weak," she paused as she closed her eyes. "Men who killed my mother."

She turned away from their stunned silence.

* * *

As the _Farseer_ came in to view through the cockpit, Valyria sighed with feeling – relieved beyond measure that it was right where she left it. Despite that, she found her wounds had worsened her fatigue; it took more of her will to keep her eyes open with every passing minute. It felt like an eternity passed before the drop-ship kissed the desert sand, landing a short distance from the safety of the _Farseer._

 _More tired than I realized,_ the thought drifted lazily through her mind, sluggish. She shook her head to clear it. When she tried to stand, all she managed to do is groan – even louder on the second attempt. Looking down, she realized the entire pilot seat was covered in a sheen of purple blood.

 _Oh._

"Monic," she grunted, then repeated herself, louder.

The woman's face exploded with concern as soon as their eyes met. "Oh, shit," she cursed, rushing to Valyria. "What do I do?"

"Be calm," Valyria grunted in agony as the woman pulled her to her feet. "There is a…med-bay…on the _Farseer._ Help me get there," she was struggling for every step. She eyed the krogan as they shuffled past – still propped up against the bulkhead – utterly unchanged.

 _Hope you're friendlier than you look,_ she thought with a weak smirk.

Her head was dizzy – her vision swimming. It was difficult to keep focused.

In the passenger area, the others had already disembarked and were milling about in the sand, oblivious to the emergency. "Hey," Monic shouted, " _a little help?"_

 _That_ got them moving. As Valyria went limp in Monic's arms – her eyes rolling up into her head – they all grabbed a limb and carried her into her ship.

Monic searched for the med-bay in the unfamiliar craft, guiding them as best she could. Valyria was heavier than she looked – or they were simply weak and exhausted. When they finally managed to find it, everyone froze at the sight of the black body-bag that occupied the sole examination table and the hastily smeared blood stains below it.

"Set her down," Monic grunted. They lowered her to the deck gingerly. She blew the hair from her face as she stood. "Help me move her," she gestured to the bag.

As they lifted the remains of Valyria's mother, Emily asked the question on all their minds.

"Can we save her?"

Monic sighed as she straitened, wiping sweat from her bruised face. "We have to try."

* * *

She found herself wading through gentle waters at the edge of a tranquil sea – the sound of laughter reached her from the shore, carried on the warm breeze. The sunlight felt blissful on her skin; calming, like everything in the world was _right._

Turning to the shore, she strode through the waves lapping at her ankles. A group of wildly different people gathered under a cloth pavilion, gently rocking in the breeze. She saw a plethora of races; human, asari, turian, salarian, drell and krogan, all talking and laughing. Her heart leapt as her eyes found her mother, smiling at a raven haired human covered in tattoos.

"Hey kiddo," a woman appeared at her side, causing her to stop abruptly. The warm breeze pulled at her thick mane of scarlet hair as warm emerald eyes watched her with affection. Small, pink lips curled up in a knowing smile as she nodded to the group. "They can wait."

Valyria swallowed, searching the woman's face. "You're-"

"With you," she interrupted with a grin. "Always will be."

Valyria felt her eyes water as the fiery headed woman embraced her. "Be strong, kiddo. Trust yourself. Find a way through it," she whispered as they held each other, "and above all – be happy. We'll be here, waiting."

 _I will, Father_ , she promised, unable to speak.

Her father pulled back, then cupped her face with warm hands to brush away her tears. "Remember what you're mother taught you – and don't be afraid to ask for help," she nodded, smiling. "We love you honey. Never forget that."

Valyria nodded as she gripped her father's forearms tight. "I wish I could have met you," she managed to say through trembling lips.

Her father's smile faltered, but never left, as her own eyes misted with the threat of tears.

"Me too, kiddo. Me too."

* * *

She woke to the steady beep of monitoring equipment in an unfamiliar, dimly lit room. The steady _thrum_ of power in the air sounded off – quieter than the power core of the _Farseer._ She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.

A krogan stood in the shadows, clad in a dark body-suit, massive arms folded over his chest. His yellow eyes watched her – scarred, rocky face unreadable. "Finally awake, then," he spoke, his deep voice like spilling gravel. "Hmph. About time."

"Where," she croaked. Her throat felt dryer than a desert.

"Here," the krogan moved in answer, giving her a glass of water. She accepted it, drinking earnestly.

"Where am I," she asked, "who are you – what happened?"

The krogan growled. "I'll let the others explain," he flicked a single talon over his shoulder. "They're outside. Know that I'm called Arjax, clan Nakmor," he paused, speaking over his shoulder as he turned to leave. "I've got questions of my own – once you're thinking strait."

She watched him leave the room – booming a simple ' _she's awake'_ down the corridor beyond. Several people filed in immediately – two humans she didn't know wearing dark blue and black uniforms, and Monic, who looked much healthier.

A barrage of questions from the uniformed humans assaulted her – asking if she was in any pain, how her head felt, if she felt any tingling or numbness. She answered slowly, confused.

"Can someone please tell me what is happening," she nearly yelled.

"You were hurt – badly, after the…after you saved us," Monic began, while the others fussed over her. "We tried to help, but none of us really knew how – so we did what we could, and then Arjax woke up. He figured out how to call for help, and –"

"You're on the Alliance ship _Omaha,_ we picked you up three days ago," one of the men told her. He looked to be older, with thinning grey hair and wrinkles about his warm eyes. "I'm Dr. Farrinth, this is Corpsman Wallace," he gestured to each in turn.

 _Mother,_ the thought sent a jolt of panic through her. "My ship, my mother –" she sat up, pulling at the intravenous feeds in her arm.

"We have them both, relax," Dr. Farrinth assured. "Your ship is in the hangar, your mother's remains are in the morgue. Both are in good hands – as are you."

"Everything looks good, sir," the younger man, Wallace, spoke quietly, earning a nod from the doctor.

"Ok. Please excuse us," Farrinth turned to Monic. "You too I'm afraid, ma'am."

Monic nodded, offering Valyria a small smile. "I'll be back soon."

Once they had left, the doctor pulled up a chair next to her bed, raising it so she could sit up comfortably.

"Better?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Good. Now," he paused, activating his omni, "before we begin, I trust you understand the rules of patient – doctor confidentiality?"

"Yes."

"Good. So, suffice to say – you were extremely lucky we arrived in time. You had lost a great deal of blood, enough to warrant a transfusion, and suffered severe eezo deficiency which led to near fatal damage to your nervous system. Long story short," his dark, kind eyes met hers, "you risked a great deal, and nearly lost."

Valyria averted her gaze, unable to do anything but nod.

"However," he continued with a smile, "given more rest and nutrition, I doubt you will suffer any long term effects."

She let out a slow breath. "Thank you Doctor."

"My pleasure. Now," he paused to sigh, "there is the matter of your mother," he held a hand up at her reaction. "Miss Monic and the others have already given their statements, but not her identity. Neither of you had Ident chips – which is… _unorthodox,"_ he shrugged.

 _Questionable, you mean,_ Valyria guessed. Her mother's penchant for privacy bordered on paranoia most of the time. She had grown up in it – accepted it as a way of life.

 _Be careful who you trust with the T'Soni name,_ she had warned her. _There are those who would use you for that alone._

"We just need your names for the paperwork, dear. Nothing nefarious – I assure you."

 _I don't see another choice. If I lie, they might lock me up. If I tell the truth, at least he is bound in confidence._

"I can understand – "

"My mother's name is Liara T'Soni," she blurted, watching as his face pulled into a mask of concern. "Mine is Valyria."

He blinked several times in silence.

" _The_ Liara T'Soni? From the War?"

Valyria nodded.

He sat back, releasing a deep breath. "Shit."

Silence reigned as neither of them moved.

"Okay," Farrinth shook himself as he ran a hand through his thin hair. "Here's what we do…"

* * *

The GCAS _Omaha_ burst out of FTL beyond the approach lanes of Victus Station in orbit above the rancid atmosphere of the gas giant Callern in the Nereen System – a single relay jump from the Widow Nebula and the Citadel.

She was a cruiser of mixed blood – designed and built by several races, crewed by many more. Her commander stood on the bridge, flexing his taloned hands at the small of his back as his sharp blue eyes watched his crew go about their duties.

He enjoyed the regimented efficiency at work – seeing the mechanical precision at play – the result of countless lives dedicated to duty and service. Deep in his carapace, pride warmed his heart.

" _Command, medical,"_ the voice of Dr. Farrinth called over the com-link.

"Go ahead, Doctor."

" _Files on our civies are uploaded, ready for your approval Captain."_

"Very well," he nodded, closing the link as he activated his omni. He swiped through the files as he read, engrossing himself in the details of each of the civilians under his charge. _Proof is in the details,_ his father always said – words that served him well throughout his career.

Seven human women, found in various stages of physical abuse and near starvation – a Krogan, callous and ornery – but in relatively better shape, and two asari. One in a coma, the other… _well._ Witness statements told an impressive story – especially given the young age of the surviving asari.

Intrigued, he took a closer look at her file. _Asteria D'Ria,_ he read her name silently. She _looked_ young – barely more than a child. The more he absorbed her features, the more he found familiar. _I know that face,_ the thought nagged at him, troublesome.

After a few moments, he shook his head, dismissing it as irrelevent. Most asari shared similar features, after all.

He swiped again, moving on to the girl's deceased mother. His eyes froze instantly, mandibles quivering in shock. _Impossible,_ he thought, as he stared at the image of a legend – someone his father had told him countless stories about – someone he had grown up idolizing.

"Medical, command," he spoke quickly.

" _Go ahead Captain."_

"Where is… _Asteria D'Ria,"_ he asked, reading her name from his omni.

" _She was released an hour ago, sir – kept under escort to the hangar, per her request."_

He looked at her mother's picture again. "Very well," he closed the link and his omni – turning from the view of the bridge to walk at a brisk pace for the elevator. "Ops, you have the bridge," he called over his shoulder.

He fought back the rolling emotions within him as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

Valyria cocked her head at the towering krogan as he strapped himself with armor. "You want me to do _what,_ " she asked, incredulous.

"You heard me," Arjax growled, flexing his arm to test the joints motion. He seemed less than satisfied with what he could 'borrow' from the _Omaha_ ' _s_ armory.

"I can't go to Tuchanka," she shook her head as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was dressed back in her armor – free from the itchy medical gown she woke up in – grateful to Monic for cleaning it while she slept. "I have…things to take care of," her mother still had to be laid to rest.

"Not my problem," Arjax shrugged. "You caused this – you're the one who kept me here. So now I'm stuck with you, _tiny,_ until we get to Tuchanka and sort this shit out," he practically snarled at her.

Valyria was at a loss. "I don't understand –"

"Of course you don't. You wouldn't know the first thing about _honor,_ girl," he waved dismissively at her.

She scowled at that, as she shook her head angrily. "I don't understand why you are so angry. I only wanted to help you."

He fixed one yellow eye at her as he became still as a stone.

"You know _nothing_ of krogans – but you _will."_

Both turned as the elevator to the hangar opened and watched an armored turian enter. He moved with confidence, nodding to the guards on duty, gesturing for them to leave. He came to a halt before Valyria and Arjax, face set in an unknowable expression, mandibles tight to his cheeks.

He clasped his talons behind him before speaking, blue eyes piercing in their intensity. "I'd like a word, miss D'Ria," his voice was calm, but colored with deep harmonics.

"Piss off, _spike,_ " Arjax barked, "we're in the middle of some important shit here."

Valyria shot daggers at the krogan. " _That is enough,"_ she hissed, "I _will_ leave you here, _asshole,"_ she yelled, regretting the use of the foul word instantly. It left a disgusting taste in her mouth.

Arjax took a rumbling step towards her – bending down to her eye level in silent intimidation – while she held herself under his threatening glare.

"Heh-heh-heh," he laughed slowly. "You got guts, tiny, I'll give you that," he shot the turian a look as he stood tall. "Make it quick, we got… _things to do,"_ he directed the last words to Valyria before stomping off.

Valyria set her fists on her hips, sighing after he left. She turned back to the turian, who had stood silently waiting. "I'm sorry for his behavior," she began, taking a step closer. "I do not know why he is so angry."

When he didn't respond, only continued to stare at her, she grew uncomfortable. "Is…there something you need," she asked, hesitantly.

He blinked, then lowered his gaze. "I…I knew your mother," he spoke quietly, barely more than a whisper.

Valyria felt her heart pounding in her chest. "I don't know –"

"Please don't insult my intelligence, _Asteria,"_ his words were cold, bitter.

"Who are you," she asked, taking a step back, tense.

He took a deep breath as he squared his shoulders. "Commander Darius Vakarian, Captain of this ship."


	4. Chapter 4

Valyria stood immobile before the tall, stoic turian, unsure what to say or do. Her mind raced as she tried to come to grips with the sheer _odds_ of his presence. _Of all the ships in all the Alliance fleets, how is it possible that I find myself_ here, _facing the son of one of mother's dearest friends?_

"I see you recognize the name," his mandibles twitched as he moved past her, blue eyes drifting over the hull of the _Farseer._ "It has been… _difficult_ , living with the burden of his legacy," he admitted, before turning to speak to her over his shoulder. "I am sure you can relate."

When she failed to respond, he turned back to the ship, clasping his talons behind his back with a sigh.

"When I was a child, my father refused to speak of the War – despite the attention he received wherever he went. Naturally, I was curious, and sought out the answers as I grew older," his voice grew quiet as he continued. "I wanted to _understand._ To _honor_ him, as countless strangers did. Little did I know the pain it would cause."

He squared his shoulders again as Valyria stepped alongside.

"He sat me down, the night before I shipped out to boot," he nodded, "told me _everything."_

She watched as he lowered his head and his eye plates fell. If turians could scowl, she imagined he was attempting to do so.

"I'll never forget that night," he whispered.

He took a deep breath, lifting his face to gaze at her once more. "I understand your position, your loss – and I will do anything I can to ensure your mother is taken care of," he gestured to her with an open talon. "you _are_ her daughter. I wont claim to understand your reasons for wanting to conceal that – but I can respect it."

Valyria bit her bottom lip as her eyes fell to the deck, away from the intensity of his gaze. She wanted to trust him, to tell him that she _understood_ his burdens all too well – that life as a T'Soni had been lonely and confusing – that she barely understood _why._

 _Why didn't you tell me Mother,_ she thought again.

"Hmm," he took a breath before he continued, activating his omni. "I've approved your release, along with the krogan," he began – resuming the mantle of command, "and transferred the standard bounty vouchers to your IDent." He flicked a talon to her over his interface, prompting hers to light up.

"You can cash them in with the bounty office at C-Sec on the Citadel."

"The Citadel," Valyria shook her head. "I have to go to Thessia. My moth –" she stopped, catching his knowing look. " _Liara_ needs to go home," she corrected.

His mandibles quivered in annoyance, but he held his stoic composure. "I advise you to reconsider. There is someone on the Citadel you should meet – he might have more insight about that," his voice grew deep as his harmonics shifted in sympathy. "He will meet you at the Memorial, on the presidium."

He startled her by placing a gloved talon on her shoulder as he turned to leave. "Spirits be with you, Asteria," he offered, inclining his head in a curt nod.

"Valyria," she corrected with a shy smile, "my name is Valyria."

Something flashed in his eyes then – a recognition or revelation – but then vanished in a blink.

"Honored to meet you, Valyria," he spoke quietly. "Be careful out there."

She watched the son of Garrus Vakarian march off without a backward glance, wondering if she had just met a friend or not. Once he entered the lift, he turned to face her again – blue eyes locked with hers – and gave her an encouraging nod.

Valyria smiled as she returned the gesture.

* * *

Arjax paced the cramped corridor leading from the _Farseer's_ cockpit to common area as he fought to keep his fury in check. _Three_ hours of standing around after the _Omaha_ docked at Victus, _three_ hours of waiting while the asari dragged her feet. _Three hours_ of useless blabbering to whiney humans and that _pyjack_ turian, _for what_?

 _Now she wants to make a stop at the Citadel,_ he fumed. _Unbelievable._

"You are distracting me," the girl said to him, over her shoulder in the pilots seat.

"Hnn," he growled as he continued his stomping. "Tough shit. Fly the damned ship," he dismissed her whining with a gesture.

They had made relay transition an hour ago – bound for the Widow Nebula. Arjax shook his head, aggravated beyond words. They were going in the wrong direction, and he was being dragged along because the stupid girl didn't know or _care_ what she did!

He wasn't supposed to leave that pit. He didn't deserve to live, after such a shameful defeat. He was supposed to break free – and rip those animals to _shreds – or die trying._ But then _she_ came along, and _stole_ his last chance at an honorable death!

She didn't even _care._ She thought she had done him some great _service –_ her ignorance made him want to spit.

 _I gotta get outta here before I rip this weakling ship apart,_ he raged silently.

"Will you please stop," she sighed, "and tell me why you are so upset?"

"Upset," he cocked his head, oblivious to the fact that she couldn't see, " _upset,"_ he ground out the word. "I'm not upset – I'm furious," he jabbed a fat claw at her, "and you're too stupid to even care. Hah, wait till we get to Tuchanka," he threw his arms up as he continued pacing. "I can't wait to see the look on your squishy blue face!"

"My face is not squishy," she stated coldly, "and don't call me stupid."

"Maybe you shouldn't act stupid!"

He heard her take a deep breath. "You're acting like a child."

 _What? What?!_

He froze. "What did you say?"

"You heard me."

His lips pulled back in a snarl as he ground his teeth. "You're _lucky_ I can't fit in that damned cockpit _princess,_ 'cause you'd regret ever cutting me loose from that stinking pit," he barked, stomping towards her to emphasize every word.

She had the nerve to laugh as she shook her head. "Too late, Nakmor Arjax," he didn't like the way she tried to sound like him when she said his name – it sounded like a old varren hacking up a bone – but it was funny, so he grinned.

 _Fiery little shit,_ he admitted, _gots guts too. Hnnh…wont matter much though._

"Listen – I'm sorry, but I _have_ to take care of my mother. I'll take you to Tuchanka after – I promise."

He stalked off toward the galley, the rage suddenly forgotten.

* * *

The Monument stood in the courtyard before the Council Tower, wrapped around the towering structure like the high ramparts of an ancient castle. It shone with reflective gloss in the bright artificial light – clean white marble surrounded by peaceful gardens and the glittering waters of the lakes and canals beyond.

Valyria entered through one of several walkways cut through the stone wall, emerald eyes wide in wonder. The guards stationed about the perimeter – dressed smartly in uniformed armor of black and gold – stood at attention. She felt a stab of sympathy for them as she passed, wondering how they managed to stand in one place for so long.

A towering statue stood within, centered in a tranquil pool.

She froze mid stride as soon as she saw it.

 _Father?_

She stood at least fifty feet high – clad in armor, her feet apart, head held high. In her left fist she carried a rifle in the crook of her elbow, raised to the sky. Her right reached out, towards the stars, palm up and open as if she was reaching out to gather them up.

Valyria blinked in wonder at the sight – as her feet carried her to the waters edge. She craned her neck back, holding herself against the sudden chill she felt inside. Her eyes roamed her father's features, before coming to rest on the plaque at her feet.

 _In Memoriam of Cmdr. Valerie Shepard, Council Spectre, Alliance Navy –_ " _We faced our enemy together."_

 _Goddess,_ she covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

She turned, daze-like, watery eyes searching the faces of the few pilgrims wandering the courtyard. Flags fluttered in the breeze. Flowers were set in random places by the wall. Birds chirped in distant trees.

Then she saw the names – written in miniscule script – covering every inch of the towering walls. _Millions_ of names.

Unable to stop the tears, she placed her palm upon the polished surface and wept.

* * *

An old turian soldier watched the young asari with interest through the camera feed on his omni as he sat in his hover-chair, skeletal form wrapped in blankets. He had parked next to the lake, beyond the monument, to observe from afar. He brushed a thin, brittle talon over his quivering mandibles in thought.

He ran the message from Darius in his mind as he watched the girl weep.

 _Father –_

 _An urgent matter requires your attention. A young asari is making her way to the Citadel, with a heavy burden. I advised her to meet with you at the Memorial. This is a very delicate matter – a_ family _matter. You will understand when you see her._

Zooming in on the young girl's face, he began to suspect he was about to have a very interesting day.

He approached from her side, gliding silently above the smooth flagstones of the courtyard. Her eyes were closed, dripping tears as she sniffed quietly. He folded his talons in his lap and waited.

After a few moments, the moroseness of the Memorial began to sink its claws into him too – which set his thin plates itching. He didn't like coming here – too many memories – too much pain.

"Eh, excuse me," he began, then cleared his throat as she jumped – wiping her face in a hurry. "Sorry. Bad joke – nothing clears the sinuses like a war memorial," he wheezed a weak laugh at himself. She didn't smile, or laugh. _Hm. Must be losing my touch,_ he thought.

He watched her hold herself tighter as she glanced at him, unsure.

"Sorry," he gestured to himself, "I'm a bit eccentric with old age. Garrus Vakarian," he inclined his head briefly, "and you are?"

She turned to face him slowly, raising her eyes to his even slower.

He felt his insides clench as he drank in the details of her face; the dark freckles, the light blue skin fading to almost white at the tips of her crest, the small, narrow lips – and above all – her piercing emerald eyes.

 _Spirits preserve me._

"My name is Valyria," she paused, taking a breath, "Valyria T'Soni." Her quiet voice trembled – but a strength he recognized lay at its foundations.

It had been many years – decades – since Garrus Vakarian had been rendered utterly frozen by shock. He slumped back in his chair, unable to speak or do anything but blink and draw shaky, wheezy breaths for several long seconds.

"How is this possible," he finally managed to whisper. His mind reached back, all those decades ago, to that sad day they had finally reached Earth – the gut wrenching news that awaited them there – and Liara's keening wails of loss and torment when they saw what remained of his friend.

 _There was barely anything left of her._

"Mother found a way," Valyria sniffed.

Garrus shook – visibly – unable to fight the surge of emotions broiling within.

"Tell me."

* * *

Valyria watched as he gazed down at her mother's remains within the dull grey transport container provided by the _Omaha._ He'd asked to see her, following her explanation at the Monument. _Trust but verify,_ he croaked, unable to meet her eyes.

"Ah, T'Soni," he keened, barely a whisper. His eyes misted as his mandibles flared in sporadic ticks.

"I was there when we found her," he spoke louder after clearing his throat. "On Therum – was it Therum? Hmm," he waved dismissively. "Whatever. _Spirits,_ I hate being _old._ "

Valyria bit her bottom lip – fighting the urge to cry and smile all at once.

"She was a good friend – a brave soul – and," he drew out the word, turning to address Valyria, "probably the only person in the galaxy Shepard tried _not_ to piss off," he huffed a weak laugh, but then shook his head sadly. "She had it rough, for someone so young. Never complained about it though – not like she had a choice – but _damn it,"_ he rasped, hacking as a coughing fit seized him.

Valyria moved to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. Through the blanket wrapping him, she felt how thin and fragile he was.

"Are you okay," she asked quietly, as his coughs subsided.

"Hmm," he seemed to consider, "I've been better – but I'm not dead _yet,"_ he nodded to himself, "despite everything we went through. I never thought I'd be one of the last."

Valyria didn't know what to say at that – so she said nothing.

"What are your plans," he gestured to Liara, "for…," his voice cracked as it trailed off.

"I will take her home, to Thessia."

Garrus blinked then, cocking his head at her. "Don't you think she should be with Shepard?"

Valyria mimicked his expression. "What do you mean?"

Garrus' mandibles flared as his eyes twinkled.

* * *

When she asked him about the legality of his proposal – his scarred, old face tilted up at her in a turian's approximation of a grin.

"Screw 'em," he rasped. "There's an old human proverb Shepard taught me, back in the day – _some rules are meant to be broken."_

He'd called in some favors – thrown his name around.

In the end, after the quiet walk through the path cleared by C-Sec and Memorial Praetorians both, they stood before the sealed and guarded entrance to her tomb, built beneath the towering statue made in her image, several levels above.

They watched in silence as the door rose, revealing a single casket on a raised platform within.

Garrus turned to Valyria, giving a single nod.

They entered with the guards bearing her mother, watching in reverent silence as they placed her beside the woman she loved.

Valyria stood numbed as they filed out. At her side, Garrus sniffed as he rummaged through his blanket. " _Spirits,_ where _is_ it," he grumbled, then finally pulled a small bottle free. "Ah," he sighed, swishing the brown liquid contents. "Be a dear," he asked, holding the bottle up in a tremored grip.

Valyria nodded, pulling the cork, the powerful aroma assaulting her nose immediately.

"I'd offer you a pull, but it's turian – sour as the rest of us," he laughed, earning a sad smile from her as she handed it to him. "Thanks," he patted her arm, then lifted the bottle to his friends at rest.

"See you at the bar you two," he whispered, "try not to wreck the place before I get there."

Valyria dropped her head as he drank deep.

"Thank you, for arranging this Mr. Vakarian," she whispered in the silence that followed.

His laugh was a dry gun-shot, followed by a throaty chuckle. "Its Garrus, to you."


	5. Chapter 5

Valyria decided that she enjoyed the Citadel – despite her unease amid the crowded streets. All those lonely years with her mother she had dreamed of seeing the center of galactic culture; this melting pot of so many different species and walks of life. There was so much to see, to do - she was quite overwhelmed when they first arrived.

 _Perhaps I shall return and live here,_ she mused as she strolled the markets.

Garrus had commented on her armor, noting the obvious damage she had not yet repaired. She had seen the peculiar way his face had pulled tight – the turian equivalent of a grimace. ' _I know a thing or two about the merc lifestyle,'_ he rasped, as he jabbed a talon at himself, ' _I did my share of house cleaning on Omega.'_

She had listened intently as he fell into another incredible story of his life – fighting as a vigilante – helping somewhere be a little safer. Part of her felt drawn to that life – her mother had felt the need to teach her how to defend herself, after all – yet she was no soldier. Killing those men on The Pit had been…a _rushed_ decision. She felt no shame in it – but she was unsure if that was the life she wanted to live.

Of course, it _was_ a decent way to earn a living, if the bounty vouchers awarded by the Alliance were the norm. Her lips curled in a small smile as she remembered the look on the young clerks face at the C-Sec office when she cashed them in; the way his brows had shot up, as his eyes scanned her up and down. His look of dubiousness turned to mild acceptance once Cmdr. Vakarian's signature had checked out, and proceeded to transfer her the money.

Twenty-five thousand a head, for seventeen heads.

 _More than enough to fuel and restock the_ Farseer, _and hopefully buy some new gear._

She never particularly liked the outdated armor her mother had given her – it was too cumbersome – limiting her movement and chaffed in places. Her mother had warned her about her chosen style of fighting; charging in to close range, relying on speed, agility and biotics versus the relative safety of ranged attacks.

 _A Vanguard,_ she had said, _is a potent force in battle – but also risks much. Mind your surroundings, never overextend beyond your abilities or those of your allies._

The thought pulled her lips into a frown. _Allies._ She wasn't sure she had _any –_ other than Garrus – and he certainly wasn't in any shape to travel, or fight.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. _Mother wouldn't want me gallivanting through the galaxy, making a life by taking others._

She was browsing the kiosk at Serrice Council when her omni lit up. The ugly, scarred face of the krogan glared at her from the small screen above her forearm.

" _Are we done here or what,"_ Arjax growled.

Valyria resisted the urge to sigh. "As soon as the ship is refueled and restocked, yes."

" _I already loaded all that shit,"_ he fixed her with one wide yellow eye. " _I don't like waiting."_

 _Tough shit,_ she felt the corner of her mouth curl at the thought.

" _Keep smiling,_ princess," he snarled, then cut the transmission.

She scowled at his impatience as she returned her attention to the kiosk.

* * *

Arjax shook his head as he stood beneath the nose of the _Farseer,_ his patience stretched to breaking. He'd attempted to keep himself occupied since their arrival several hours ago – left of his own recognizance – after the asari had left to handle her own affairs.

She hadn't asked for his company, and he didn't offer.

Left with little to do, he found a dive and had a few drinks – got into a tussle with a few weakling batarians – then wandered around the docking ring before finding himself right back where he started, at this sad excuse for a ship.

Dozens of crates had been stacked up before the loading ramp, marked for delivery to the _Farseer._ He didn't have anything better to do, so he'd busied himself for a few minutes throwing them into the small storage bay inside.

Then he wandered around the ship, wondering how in the Ancestors _quad-sack_ that girl ended up on The Pit in this _thing. No weapons, no armor,_ he grunted in disgust. _Worthless._

She wouldn't survive out in the _real_ world flying around in a paper-thin _knakken_ of a ship – not for very long, anyway. Not that he _cared_ ; once they got to Tuchanka, he doubted he'd ever see the blue-faced _pyjack_ ever again.

 _Hnnh,_ he thought, _should probably make a few calls. Get things set up – that will save some time._

He nodded to himself, stomping off towards the nearest public QEC center.

* * *

Michael Crichton sat at the bar of one of the eateries nestled into a corner nook overlooking the markets – stuffing a cheese burger zucchini boat into his face – while he watched his mark browsing. She had caught his eye at C-Sec, this pitifully _green_ -looking asari, clinging to herself as she tried to look like she _wasn't_ completely new to the Citadel.

 _Easy pickings,_ he had smirked at the time. That assumption had changed, however, as he eavesdropped on the transaction taking place at the bounty office.

Apparently, the girl had _teeth –_ or was simply a mule for whatever outfit she was running with.

Crichton was many things, good and bad, _depending on who you asked,_ but he was nothing if not thorough. This asari – going by the obvious alias of 'Asteria D'Ria' – had cashed in a substantial bounty for the deaths of almost twenty scumbags running for 'The Butcher', Mr. Karl Dixon, including _that_ particular piece of varren-shit himself.

 _Interesting._

So, he watched her from a distance, keeping himself inconspicuous. She hadn't met with anyone yet – just wandered around and made a few calls from her omni. From the way she carried herself, he guessed that she was young, probably less than two hundred, and more than likely waiting for a contact. The way she never stopped in one place for more than a few minutes was starting to annoy him – if she wasn't waiting for someone – she was adept at wasting time.

 _Not bad on the eyes though,_ his lips curled up at the thought. Her dark armor clung to her athletic form with a tenacity that he enjoyed – especially when she moved – but he didn't let her physical attributes distract him.

 _Business before pleasure,_ so the saying went.

He ran a hand over his unshaven jaw as he finished eating, grey eyes scanning the crowd before resting on her yet again. She seemed to be interested in something at the Serrice store – having idled there longer than anywhere else.

 _Must be gearing up – for another job?_ He cocked an eyebrow at the question.

"Can I get you anything else," the waitress asked, breaking his concentration.

His mark nodded to the salarian clerk at Serrice, then sauntered off down the corridor. He averted his eyes as she passed.

"I'm done," he paid the girl quickly, before following her.

* * *

Valyria crossed her arms over her chest as she waited for the elevator to descend, trying not to think about the lengthy journey ahead of her, stuck in a small ship with an ornery krogan. She refused to feel ashamed for helping him – it was the right thing to do.

His attitude toward her spoke differently. She shook her head, unable to comprehend his animosity.

"Troubles in paradise," the man sharing the elevator with her asked suddenly.

She gave him a quick glance, unsure if he was speaking to her. His grey eyes watched her under his dark eyebrows, which were raised in question. Short, close-cropped hair of the same color decorated his crown in a wide strip down the middle – the stubble from the sides of his head running down by his ears to cover his jaw. He was dressed in a long overcoat of dark material, covering a suit of lightweight armor. He appeared… _theatrical,_ like something from one of the vids she had watched without her mother's approval.

She was instantly suspicious, but tried not to show it. "Excuse me," she asked, unsure what else to say. She didn't have much experience with humans.

The man chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he mirrored her posture. "You looked like you had something on your mind, is all," he shrugged.

Valyria lifted a shoulder. "Perhaps – yet I have no reason to discuss it with you."

One corner of his mouth lifted as he nodded. "Fair enough – allow me to introduce myself," he extended a hand to her. "Horace Vinerro," he smiled, yet it seemed oddly forced, as if rehearsed.

After a brief hesitation, she took his hand. "Valyria."

His brows creased, as his head tilted slightly. "Pleasure to meet you," he spoke quickly, releasing her hand as the elevator came to a halt. "I sure wish it was under better circumstances."

"Excuse me," she asked again, eyeing him in confusion as the doors opened.

The hangar housing the _Farseer_ and several other small to mid-sized civilian transports lay beyond – cluttered with loaders, crates, fuel lines and service mechs. The silver, angular form of her mother's ship dominated the view – as did the squad of armed and armored individuals guarding the loading ramp below it. Her eyes narrowed at the sight – before they snapped back to Vinerro.

He grinned at her expression, jutting his chin towards the ship. "Come along then. No need to make a fuss."

Her mind raced as they walked, her eyes darted across them. All wore similar gear – light to medium hard-suits of bonded ceramite plates over dark underlaid synthetic mesh, with full faced helmets. Two were armed with bulky shotguns, four held rifles, the other two carried compact sub-machine guns. These men – and women – carried themselves with confidence and purpose, several refused to even look in her direction as they scanned the surrounding area.

 _Professional soldiers – mercenaries,_ she deduced. _I'm in trouble._

"That's far enough," Vinerro gestured for her to stop with a warding gesture as he continued past, standing before the squad.

"What do you want," she took a step back, folding her arms. _Stay calm. They want to talk – otherwise they would be shooting already._

Vinerro tilted his head, grinning. "I'm in the market for a new ship," he paused, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the _Farseer,_ "and, seeing as _someone_ managed to wreck our three-month search for the bounty on 'The Butcher'and his gang of miscreants – well, we figured you wouldn't begrudge us for making up for the loss."

Valyria felt her brow crease in confusion and annoyance. _Did all humans suffer such flawed sense of morals and logic? And who in Athame's grace was the Butcher?_

"You're not taking my ship."

Vinerro flattened his lips into thin lines as he shrugged. "Afraid so, Miss D'Ria," he lifted a bulky revolver from his hip, spinning it about in a juvenile display of dexterity.

Valyria resisted the urge to sigh. _Where is that krogan when I need him?_

"Access codes, if you please," he was very calm, very polite.

Part of her respected that – it was _refreshing_ after the foulness of most pirates. Still, it fed the darker emotions surging within her all the same. Her arms fell to her side, hands balled slowly into fists. Her face hardened into a scowl of concentration as her eyes darted between them.

 _This is going to hurt,_ she told herself, trying to gauge the likelihood of walking out of this confrontation alive. She wished she had kept a weapon – her sword at least – not that it would improve her odds much.

He leveled the revolver at her head in a smooth motion as he cocked his head again. "I won't ask again."

Valyria saw the red dot flare to life on his neck a heartbeat before she heard the _crack_ of a rifle firing.

* * *

Crichton watched from the second tier loading crane as the scene below played out through the scope of his beloved sniper rifle – a customized blend of lightweight components easily broken down into concealable pieces – and tried not to laugh at the idiocy taking place below him.

 _Vinerro, you moron,_ he wanted to laugh, but settled for a minuscule shake of his head. _Stick to romancing dancers and polishing your armor, dumbass._

He watched as the _clown_ leveled his sidearm at the asari, who seemed just as unimpressed by Vinerro's antics as every other asari he had ever seen.

 _Shit,_ his smile faded as he took a deep breath, switching his ammunition to disruptor with his thumb. The rifle in his hands _hummed_ quietly as the electrical charge built.

He exhaled slowly.

In the space between breaths, he squeezed the trigger.

Vinerro convulsed as his body was wreathed in dancing arcs of electricity, and the revolver in his outstretched fist bucked with a concussive blast – firing wild as every muscle in his body contracted.

In the same heartbeat, Valyria sheathed herself in energy – launching herself at his squad – who hesitated between focusing on her and searching for the hidden shooter. She slammed into the nearest one in a burst of kinetic force, faster than the eye could track, roaring as she fed her energy into the blast.

Bodies tumbled from view, smashing into crates and the hull of the _Farseer_ with sickening snaps of bone.

Another _crack –_ less than a second from the first – and another merc jerked, twitching as she sprayed automatic rifle fire into the air.

Valyria turned, her right fist coated in crackling biotics, and threw a shock wave of force at the other three as they were diving into cover. She caught two, blasting their bodies back into the hangar with sickening force as Vinerro and his companion finally fell to the deck, smoking and limp.

She heard the last of them roll behind a crate with a clatter of armor on metal, cursing loudly.

She strode forwards, fists clenched at her side, bathed in radiant purple energy.

"Put down your weapons and you will not be harmed," she announced.

" _Fuck you, lady_ ," a high-pitched voice answered – female.

 _Unfortunate._

When the soldier sprang up, leveling her rifle at her, she reached out with an open gesture and _pulled._ The merc managed to yelp as she was ripped off her feet and sent flying forwards – directly into the path of Valyria's sweeping fist. It crashed into her armored torso, fueled by momentum and sheathed in energy – the devastating blow cracked armor and bone as the mercenary's body doubled over mid-air. Valyria let her fall in a heap at her feet.

In the silence that followed, broken only by Valyria's heavy breathing, a lone, low whistle echoed.

She looked up, emerald eyes narrowed, to the strange man atop one of the loading cranes. He grinned, an elongated rifle resting on his hip.

* * *

Crichton disassembled his 'pride and joy' in a matter of seconds, then held his hands up with a nod. He watched as she took a few steps forwards, lithe form bright with flaring biotics, then returned the gesture.

 _Well, that's something,_ he smirked. Getting thrown about like a rag doll wasn't on his list of things to do today, but then again, neither was saving someone he planned on ripping off. _Oh well._

She waited as he descended the crane, sliding down the ladder with a shriek of leather on metal. He eyed her as he approached, slowly, hands still up and open. She returned his suspicion as she paced side-to-side, like a hungry animal.

 _Guess she's for real after all,_ he snorted silently. _I'll be damned._

"Who are you," she scowled, gesturing to the bodies littered about the place, "and why did you aid me?"

 _Hm, truth or bullshit,_ he considered. _Ah, screw it._

"Well," he began, but was interrupted by a throaty growl from the open elevator behind him. He turned, slowly, as his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

A _really_ upset looking krogan stood in the elevator – glaring at him like he was a prime cut of meat.

* * *

Arjax took in the scene before him and felt his vision swim with red as his muscles flexed with anger and his jaw clenched. _I missed the battle – again!_

A roar shook the air before he stomped forwards – gaining speed as he charged the human standing before the asari.

" _No,"_ she spoke quietly, calmly, bringing her hand up in a gesture of warding.

Arjax felt his body _locked_ in place as her biotics engulfed him in stasis. She let him drift closer, glaring at him in a face pulled tight with exertion. He wanted to break it into a pulpy mess.

"This…man, helped me. Calm yourself…Arjax. Let me…explain," she grunted as sweat beaded on her face.

She was strong, but lacked endurance. He growled at that. _Weak._

"You talk to much – I don't care about _words._ I care about _deeds_! All I see is another battle _without_ me, yet another death denied! _Release me,"_ he roared, after she allowed him to speak.

"Sensing you two have issues," the human muttered.

"Not the time," the asari dismissed him with a hiss. "Arjax, we need to go. C-Sec will come…and I made you…a promise."

He shook his head, growling in an attempt to free himself of her biotic grip. _Hnnh. Tuchanka,_ his mind cleared, somewhat. _Yes. Tuchanka…under the scorched sky and in the blistering sand. Redemption._

"I…yeah," he grunted, almost a laugh. His boulder-like features twitched, scars pulled as he grinned. "Let's get to it then, tiny," he jerked his head at the human. "This _runt_ coming too?"

The furry lines on the human's face rose up. "Excuse me?"

The alarms blared before anyone could answer.


	6. Chapter 6

Escaping the Citadel before being thrown into custody had taken haste, luck, and a well-timed distraction by a cumbersome delivery. Mostly just luck.

Crichton understood how the universe worked, regarding luck – you never question it. Life throws you little bones once in a while; little moments or surprises to be savored and appreciated, but _never_ questioned. In the end – life was simply a series of little surprises – until one very big one.

So, when he saw the two volus delivery boys from Serrice - with a cargo-crate full of what was likely equipment ordered by the young asari – exiting the lift instead of a pair of C-Sec goons, he nodded his thanks to lady luck herself.

The asari, Asteria, _or whatever her name was,_ still had the krogan held in place by her biotics. The steady shriek of security alarms rang out at steady intervals. When he turned back to her, emerald eyes snapped to his in apprehension.

"Look, I have an idea – and I can explain everything after we get out of here," he said quickly.

Apprehension drifted into annoyance as she shook her head, returning her attention to the krogan who was calmer, but still struggling against her grip.

"I have no more reason to trust _you_ than I do _him_ ," she replied, nodding to the krogan – who snarled.

Crichton cleared his throat, moving to her opposite side. "Except," he drew out the word, face turning from her to the elevator and back, "the little fact that _one_ of us just saved your life."

She shot him a dubious look.

"Okay – maybe just helped a little," he amended. "Look if I wanted you dead I'd have taken my shot," he added.

He watched her eyes narrow and her brow crease as she thought it over.

"You're wastin' time here," Arjax snapped. "Make it quick, princess – fight or flight."

She relented, unwilling to risk her freedom. Arjax stumbled as his boots fell to the deck abruptly, a savage glint in his eye as he pulled himself to his full height with a growl.

"Get on the ship and behave yourself, _please_ ," she told him as she pushed past, striding towards the elevator with Crichton on her heels.

"Hnnh," the krogan answered, mumbling to himself as he stomped off.

Valyria sighed as she shot a glance at the human, who seemed festooned with weaponry harnessed over his slender but firm body – two pistols, holstered at his hips, a compacted sniper rifle anchored over his right shoulder, numerous grenades and ammo pouches attached to his belt. He matched her lengthy stride with ease as they approached the pair of lingering volus.

"Serrice Council delivery for…Asteria D'Ria," the first one breathed, orange optic lights of his mask blinking as he waved a data-slate.

"Not paid enough…for this crap," the second one muttered.

"How'd you fellas like to make a few extra creds," Crichton asked as Valyria took the slate and signed.

They exchanged glances, then the first one shrugged. "We're listening."

* * *

Dromun and his brother Koldun stood amidst the overturned mess of several cargo crates, taking turns shoving each other when C-Sec arrived moments later. Piles of weapons and ammunition lay scattered about their feet, along with bits of armor and food rations.

"Idiot," Koldun shoved Dromun.

"Uh…moron," Dromun shoved Koldun.

The two C-Sec officers shared a glance as they took in the scene from the elevator.

"All right, break it up," the lead turian shouted, gesturing at the two pudgy volus.

"This…is _his_ fault," Dromun jabbed a pincer-claw at his brother.

"Uh…no its not," Koldun shook his head.

"Be quiet," the other officer, a drell, told them, "we got a weapons fire alert from this hangar. What happened here?"

"Uh…this idiot can't drive a lift…is what happened! Ran into…these crates…spilled merchandise…everywhere," Dromun wheezed.

" _He_ was driving…called me a moron…so I shot his foot," Koldun explained, shoving his brother again when he lifted his round appendage, waving the still smoldering hole in his boot.

"Uh…I _definitely_ want to press charges," Dromun shoved him back.

The C-Sec guards shook their heads.

* * *

From the small cargo hold of the _Farseer,_ Valyria and Crichton watched the exchange from the wall terminal using the vid feeds from the ship's outboard cameras – trying to ignore the pile of broken and unconscious bodies they had hastily piled up around them.

Valyria held her hand to her forehead, shaking her head. "This isn't going to work."

Crichton ignored her as he focused on the C-Sec guards. They were still talking, but focused on the volus.

"Have a little faith," he whispered with a smirk.

"I don't even _know_ you," she snapped, crossing her arms.

A chuckle. "True," he commented, leaving it at that. "Okay, look – they bought it. They're taking the volus in," he grinned at her as he gestured to the screen. "Now we can all get on with our significant lives."

"Just like that," she asked.

"Well," he dragged the word out, shrugging. "I'd probably stay away from the Citadel for a while, just in case," he added as he lowered the loading ramp. The squeal of metal on metal made him wince.

Her mouth opened to comment when her omni went off.

She activated it as he sauntered off – revealing a rather concerned-faced old turian.

"Garrus?"

"Hm, not sure what kind of attention you're willing to take – but I've gotten word that a certain asari councilor found out about our little escapade. You've got company headed your way," he rasped.

 _Tevos? "_ Should I be worried?"

He shook as he shrugged. "She's a politician. Whatever she wants – its probably nothing good," his mandibles twitched. "I'd get the hell out of dodge if I were you."

"Thank you Garrus."

"Anytime."

Crichton had lingered at the base of the ramp. She cocked her head at him and crossed her arms.

"Just who the hell are you anyway," he laughed, exasperated.

"It's a long story," Valyria mumbled. "We should go."

He shook his head as he returned to the _Farseer._ "I'm gonna regret this."

* * *

In the relative safety of deep space, the three of them met in the galley to try to come to an understanding. When Valyria had asked a simple question regarding their destination, however, the resident krogan decided to be less than forthcoming.

"You'll see soon enough," he grinned lopsided, then spit a foul-smelling fluid into a large bottle, lifting his angry eyes to them only after setting it down.

He leaned his bulky backside against the dull metal of the galley counter, chewing a wad of something green and greasy, spreading the chemical reek of industrial lubricant every time his maw opened. The overhead lighting added to the peaks and valleys of his craggy features – highlighting the scars and fissures dominating the gaps in his facial plates.

Bright, yellow eyes never ceased in their movement, as he stood – glaring at each of them with one eye.

"I owe you no explanations," he growled at the asari and human, who stood opposite him.

"I saved your _life_ ," Valyria retorted hotly, arms folded over her chest.

"Says you."

The human, quite unsure what to do, sat down on a nearby crate – watching the exchange in amusement.

"You _adamantly_ request transport to Tuchanka – which will likely see us _all_ dead once we enter Dominion space – without one shred of explanation, except to curse me for robbing you of some great honor. You blame _me_ for those idiotic mercs showing up back on the Citadel, when you were off doing Athame-knows-what. You've done _nothing_ but show limitless hostility and –"

An armored fist crashing down onto the counter-top interrupted her tirade, as the krogan took a lumbering step towards her – a fat claw of a digit extended in accusation.

" _I threw your supplies in the ship_ ," he snarled, blinking menacingly at the human who sat aiming two pistols at his head. "Your boyfriends a little jumpy," he sneered.

Valyria narrowed her eyes, brow knitting in confusion at his remark.

"Pardon," Crichton arched an eyebrow at him, past the muzzles of both his pistols.

Arjax chuckled deep in his chest, shrugging his massive shoulders. "Whatever," he waved them off after having his laugh at their expense.

"You haven't answered my question," Valyria let ice creep into her tone.

Arjax lifted the heavy bottle perched on the edge of the counter in a massive fist and gulped a generous amount before belching, adding to the deluge of nauseous fumes wafting around his person.

"Good shit, eh," Crichton smirked.

Valyria took a step back with a grimace, wafting the stench away from her.

"Piss off," the krogan lifted a shoulder as he glared at the human with one eye, the asari with the other. "As for answers, well, you need to ask the right questions _, princess_ ," he attempted to pitch his voice in a rough imitation of hers, but only succeeded in adding another layer of growls to the word.

Purple light flared as Valyria's temper slipped free – stepping up to the krogan's face.

"Call me princess _one more time,"_ she snarled, wisps of dark energy dancing across her skin, close enough to snap and fizzle against his armor.

Crichton was up on his feet the instant she moved, hands on the holstered pistols at his thighs – waiting.

The big krogan did nothing for several long breaths – then he grinned.

* * *

Valyria lingered on the threshold of the one room she had tried to avoid for as long as possible: her mother's quarters.

She had restocked the galley, reorganized the cargo, unpacked and calibrated her new armor, stowed and cleaned her weapons, and flown the ship – everything and anything she could think of _besides_ entering that room.

The bed was made, with various clothing items laid across it. The desk was a mess of various data-slates piled about, the terminal screen glowing with whatever research she had last been obsessing over. Her silver and black armor stood in the corner – a dim overhead light reflecting off its curves and edges.

It smelled of her – that was enough to set her eyes watering.

She approached the bed, eyes lingering on the picture displays set upon the nightstand. One was of a ship – the _Normandy –_ elegant and deadly as it flew. The other was of a fiery headed human in a crisp uniform, one corner of her lips curled slightly, green eyes bright. Her father, Valerie Shepard.

Valyria sighed as she sat on the bed, running a hand over the soft comforter, breathing in her mother's scent.

 _She's gone._

The thought solidified the reality, opening the void in her heart. She laid down, closing her eyes as she pulled her mother's clothes to her face. They were cool to the touch – never to be warmed by her again.

' _Black box. Answers. I love you,'_ her mother's voice echoed in her head.

She jolted upright, eyes searching the room.

Her mother had spent _decades_ working on the device she had conceived of during The War – a digital time capsule containing a literal lifetime's worth of knowledge – everything from the Protheans to a map of the known Relay network. She had continued adding to the compendium ever since.

She found it – nearly buried under a tower of data slates on her desk. She locked the door quickly before pressing her palm to its glossy black surface.

"Run program."

A full body projection of her mother appeared in blue light, dressed in her long-forgotten white and blue field armor from The War. She held her hands clasped before her, head tilted fractionally, as she smiled sadly. Her eyes were soft, misted with tears as she spoke.

" _My beautiful daughter_ ," her smile spread, " _know that I love you – so much_ ," she paused, taking a breath. " _You have activated this device – which means that I have run out of time – a hard truth for our kind to face. I can only hope that I have prepared you enough, and given you the information you need, to live your life to the best of your ability. If not,_ " she paused, inclining her head, " _I hope you can forgive me_."

Valyria sat on the bed, wiping the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

" _Herein lies the total accumulation of my life's work – professional and personal. It was my intention for you to use it as a guide, to seek any information I had failed to provide. Be careful,"_ her eyes hardened, " _with who you trust with this information, Valyria. Some of it is extremely personal – some outright dangerous – and most is classified by the Council."_

Her face relaxed again, as she smiled her sad smile again. " _I will miss you, Valyria. I shall watch over you – always."_

The image disappeared, only for another to instantly reappear – her mother stood calmly, hands clasped behind her back.

" _Awaiting query_ ," she stated flatly.

Valyria took a deep breath as she wiped more tears away, swallowing the stifled sobs in her throat.

"Tell me about my father."

" _Specify."_

Valyria shifted, leaning back onto the bed with her arms and crossed her legs at the ankle. Her mind raced with questions – sorting what she already knew, what she had only heard rumors of, and what she absolutely needed to know. _What does someone_ need _to know of their heritage? What am I missing? That she was a good person? She gave her life for countless others – is that not enough?_

"What do I need to know," she whispered to herself.

" _Processing,"_ the VI stated, then blinked to another image, one where her mother paced, holding herself with one of her gloved fingers tapping her chin in thought. When she stopped suddenly, clasping her hands before her, she inhaled and met her daughters' eyes with a small smile before speaking.

" _Your father was the love of my life, Valyria. She was…a force of nature – a fiercely loyal friend, courageous and kind. She loved to tease me…especially when we first met,"_ her smile grew at the memories in her eyes. _"Valerie had a way of speaking with people that drew them in to her. There was…an air of charisma about her – with just a look, she would instill trust and loyalty."_

Her mother tilted her head slightly, as she crossed her arms. " _She was not without her faults. Shepard lived a…difficult life, and like all of us, the scars of the past left marks on her. She never spoke openly about her history,"_ Liara's smile widened again briefly, " _but I knew,"_ she tapped her temple.

" _She was quick to anger – yet she never lost control. She trained herself ruthlessly, mentally and physically, to hone her anger into a weapon – that iron-clad will is what saved her more than anything. It is also what made it difficult for her to talk about her feelings. She always thought of others before herself; that selflessness brought us into conflict several times."_

Liara took another breath, dipping her head as she shook it sadly. " _She deserved so much more – a life of peace…of happiness, after so much pain and sacrifice,"_ she whispered.

Valyria felt her lips tremble at the pain in her mother's voice.

Liara lifted her head, ghostly fingers swiping lonely tears from her cheeks as she cleared her throat. " _Ultimately, all you need know is this,"_ she smiled fully, warm as a midsummer's day, " _I see her in you every day. You have her heart, her strength, her stubbornness,"_ she laughed, " _and her courage. I know in my heart that she loves you."_

Valyria stifled her sobs with a hand as her mother nodded. The VI reset in a blink of light.

* * *

Garrus drummed his nearly translucent talons against the armrest of his hover chair as he waited impatiently for the vid-call to connect, mandibles quivering in sporadic ticks. His condition was deteriorating – the past days' worth of excitement hadn't helped.

 _Doctors,_ he snorted. _What do they know._

His eye plates shot up abruptly as the holo coalesced in front of him – building the image of a particularly large, crimson-armored krogan. A nasty, deep scar decorated his face, from head-plate down through his right eye. A wide, roguish grin spread across his craggy features.

"Ancestors bones, Garrus – you look like shit."

Garrus hacked as he laughed, a throaty rattle from his chest. "It's not the years Wrex, it's the mileage," he rasped.

The krogan barked a laugh, nodding. "Well at least your wits are still intact – too bad about the rest of you," Wrex grinned again before shrugging. "So, what's up Vakarian – your message said this was urgent and I've got a thousand matters to deal with."

Garrus willed himself to cease trembling, but only managed to reduce the sporadic ticks of his failing body to infrequent quivers as he leaned forward, serious as the grave. "Liara's gone, Wrex."

Urdnot Wrex, Overlord of Tuchanka – blinked as his face fell into a mask of unreadable emotion. Garrus watched his glaring red eyes dart about as he shook his massive head, grinding his jaw. "Impossible."

"I laid her to rest with Shepard myself."

Wrex' face was inscrutable. "What the hell happened," he demanded.

Garrus wheezed a sigh as he dipped his head. "She…," his voice broke, unable to speak of his friend's painful end. He shook again. _Spirits, I hate being old._

He lifted his gaze, waving weakly with one talon. "Her _daughter_ survives."

"Her _daughter? What daughter?!"_

Mandibles flaring in amusement, Garrus settled back in his chair. "It appears our old Shadow Broker was more adept at keeping secrets than any of us realized."

Wrex' upper lip quivered as he growled. "Spill it, Vakarian – and this better not be some idea of a joke. I know you turians get delirious with age."

"And you krogan just get bigger and dumber," Garrus shot back.

"Some do, sure," Wrex chuckled, briefly, before growing serious again. "Enough messing around Garrus – Liara was _my_ friend too," he paused, "hell she was more than that," he added quietly.

Garrus nodded slowly before starting his tale.


	7. Chapter 7

Crichton lingered on the threshold to the cockpit, watching the asari for a few moments. She had disappeared into the main cabin following the heated exchange with the krogan for nearly an hour – until the ship started beeping at them with proximity warnings - heralding their approach to the Relay.

He found himself on unsure footing with her – not surprising really, seeing as how he didn't even know her name – yet she hadn't demanded an explanation for his actions or even hesitated to help him get out of a potentially incriminating situation.

 _She's either very naïve, or very confident in herself,_ he mused, leaning more toward naïve.

"I can hear you breathing," she interrupted his thoughts, glancing back at him over her shoulder.

 _Shit._ "Sorry –"

"We should talk," she interrupted, returning her attention to the flight controls. "I'd like to know who you are, and what you were doing back there."

He frowned a bit at her tone. She seemed tense, more so than before they left. _Perhaps she's still pissed at the krogan,_ he guessed. "Alright," he approached the pilots chair and leaned a shoulder against a bulkhead to her right, crossing his arms as he watched the void beyond.

"Are you a mercenary," she asked, her voice neutral again.

"Not quite," he paused, "but I've run with a few."

He watched her nod, her jaw bulged as she clenched her teeth. "I have… _issues_ with mercenaries."

 _No shit,_ he thought, "I noticed," he said instead. "You're not subtle about it."

She nodded curtly. "I have good reasons for my actions. I cannot say the same for yours."

He chuckled at that.

"Did I say something amusing?"

"Your very direct," he observed, turning to lean his back against the wall and face her fully. "Most people try to get to know someone before they start flinging judgements or assumptions about. For instance – it's usually good form to introduce yourself first – so, hello there, I'm Michael Crichton," he waved slowly at her.

She fixed him with a hard look, brows knitted. "Are all humans so…condescending," she asked.

He shrugged. "It's a personality flaw."

"Indeed," she agreed. "I am Valyria," she added a few seconds later.

"That's it," he asked, arching a brow at her. "Just, _Valyria."_

She sighed as she worked the tension out of her neck. "Valyria T'Soni," she amended with a glance.

Crichton shrugged. The name didn't ring any bells to him; but then again, he didn't pay much attention to the news or society in general. He knew the asari government was after her – judging from the conversation he overheard back at the hangar – but the asari were a tight-assed bunch, generally speaking.

"Ok T'Soni," he nodded to her. "Wanna tell me how you got mixed up with Mr. Friendly back there," he jerked a thumb back towards the galley, where Arjax still lingered.

She shook her head. "I found him in a pirate base. He seems to feel as though I cheated him somehow by saving his life."

"So now you're taking him home," he shrugged again. "Then what?"

"I have no idea, and you never answered my question."

Crichton leaned his head back against the wall as he considered his options.

 _She was obviously young – on her own – very inexperienced with dealing with people or making her own way. Yet she took out the Butcher and his thugs, and those mercs back on the Citadel. For some reason – her own people are after her. And I'm stuck here with her until we get to Tuchanka anyway._

He shrugged to himself. _Might as well be honest about it._

"I was trailing you. I saw you at the bounty office – figured you were an easy mark. I was going to jolt you and help myself to your cred chits," he confessed.

He watched her green eyes narrow, focused on their approach vector to the Relay. "And what, exactly, gave you the impression that I would be an 'easy mark'?"

"Well," a smile crept onto his face, "you didn't exactly _look_ like the type to pull off a bounty like that by yourself. I figured you were just a mule – working for a bigger outfit," he chuckled. "Guess I was wrong."

She didn't answer, letting the silence stretch between them to the point of awkwardness. "I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered eventually, then shook her head briefly. "I was trying to do the right thing – killing those men. I was glad to help those they had taken and abused – including Arjax – but killing them did not help me."

Crichton pursed his lips, considering her words and the feelings behind them. Revenge was a fickle thing – a black hole if you allowed it to be. "You'll figure it out," he lifted a shoulder as she turned to him with a look of incredulousness, making him grin. "Hey, we're all out here stumbling around in the dark."

She shook her head again. "Humans are very strange people," she muttered.

He laughed at that. "No more than you are, blue."

"Don't call me blue."

"Alright," he shrugged, "don't get your panties in a wad," he mumbled.

He kicked off the bulkhead a moment later, sensing their conversation was at an end. "I'm gonna go find something to eat and keep an eye on our krogan friend."

"Try not to antagonize him. We'll hit the Relay in a few minutes," she told him over her shoulder.

He chuckled as he walked away. "I'm not _that_ dumb."

* * *

She watched as Arjax stomped down the loading ramp of the _Farseer_ as the engines hissed and cooled from the violence of atmospheric entry. Basking in the roaring wind of his blighted homeworld as pebbles and dust clattered against his armor. He spread his muscled arms, a maniacal grin spread across his face when he turned back to face her.

"Behold," he laughed, "the _glory_ of Tuchanka."

The ruins stretched to the horizon – blasted devastation, wracked by gales of ceaseless wind thick with dust and debris. It was a desert of rad-soaked lifelessness, a legacy of destruction. The rancid storms overhead obscured the powerful light of the sun – Aralakh – rolling in eternal turmoil beneath its merciless gaze.

"Something of a fixer-upper, eh," Crichton commented over the wind, a hand shielding his face.

"We shouldn't linger on the surface," Valyria adjusted the sword on her back and holstered her Tempest as she walked past him. "This world is unkind to visitors." _Hence the armor,_ she added silently.

She was quite pleased with the upgraded Serrice Council hard-suit she purchased back on the Citadel – though not as much with the color. She'd repaint it in her usual black and red when time allowed – willing to suffer the grey-on-white for now.

"Really? You don't say," Crichton chuckled, voice heavy with sarcasm as he followed, his long coat flapping with every gust.

Arjax led them towards the lift down into the compound below, buried under the rubble of a towering pyramid-shaped structure of stone. Toppled statues, worn by time and weather, lined either side of the bombed-out avenue as they approached. When Valyria had asked who they had represented, the krogan had simply shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Long dead war-chiefs – nothing more."

Valyria narrowed her gaze at his dismissive tone, but held her tongue.

The bellicose krogan had spoken little since their arrival in system – except to provide her with landing coordinates to this site – a former stronghold of Clan Nakmor in ancient times. ' _Land here,'_ he had told her. ' _Try not to wreck anything.'_

 _As if I could possibly cause_ more _damage to this wasteland,_ she thought.

They entered the lift, listening to the low, moaning wind as they started to descend.

"When my clan ruled these lands," Arjax surprised them by speaking, as he brought up his massive shotgun, "this bunker was one of our proving grounds. Way down below – our aspirants would prove their worth by hunting the beasts – and each other," he glared at Valyria with a bright yellow eye, then chuckled.

Valyria eyed the obvious state of disrepair to the shaft as they descended, noting the cracks and bullet holes in the rock with concern. "Your people no longer dwell here?"

His gunshot laugh echoed over the grinding mechanics of the lift. "No one 'dwells' here, asari – the homeworld is a crucible for the unproven – we krogan are tough, but we claimed easier worlds to live on after the War."

"Skip to the part that explains why we're here," Crichton folded his arms, his voice tense.

Arjax growled as he swung his head to the human, fixing the slender man with his full attention. " _You're_ here because this weakling," he gestured to Valyria, "saved you from a cell on the Citadel – speak when spoken to."

" _Asshole_ ," Crichton mumbled, shaking his head.

"Why are we here, Arjax," Valyria laced her tone with ice, trying her best to ignore their bickering.

"To hunt," he barked, turning back to her as he readied his shotgun. "why else?"

Valyria crossed her arms. "What exactly," she spoke slowly, "are we hunting – and why?"

"You soft-skinned _pyjacks_ talk too much," he shook his head.

"Answer the question," she demanded as the lift screeched to a halt.

"Either of you dummies ever heard of a thresher maw," he chuckled as the lift gates opened – revealing a dimly lit cavern, littered with rubble and debris. He strode forwards as he activated the light mounted to his shotgun.

"The hell is a thresher maw," Crichton hissed to Valyria, pulling his pistols free – one in each fist.

She drew her sword and Tempest alongside him. "Something we have no business trying to kill," she whispered back, lighting her barrier as she spoke, flooding the darkness in purple-white light.

"We're not hunting maws, _idiots_ ," Arjax growled at them over his shoulder. "We're hunting their favorite prey – skittar beetles."

"Oh," Crichton shrugged, scanning the darkness as they walked into the cavern. "That sounds so much better."

"Not really," Valyria mumbled.

Arjax laughed; his deep, gravelly chuckles echoed through the darkness. "Yeah – I can't wait to see your faces when we find one."

* * *

Overlord Urdnot Wrex reclined on the throne of the first and only dreadnaught of the resurgent krogan war-fleet, the _Conqueror,_ doing his best to maintain a neutral outward façade of calm indifference. Inside, his blood was on fire – to know that after everything they went through together – his friends had not trusted him enough to bring him into their confidence.

 _Liara and Shepard…I always figured it was just a fling,_ he mused, watching as Tuchanka rolled into view.

Nearly half a kilometer of armored threat, the _Conqueror_ was a spear of deadly intent hanging in the void over the blighted homeworld, an alpha predator surrounded by a pack of lesser kin swarming her like a host of angry insects. Most were troop transports, bulky ticks of metal, loaded with troops and civilians awaiting transport to fresher, greener colonies.

He watched on the various screens before him as the long-range scans tracked a lone survey-ship falling into the rad-soaked atmosphere of Tuchanka, Ident signals pinging back with the name _Farseer_ in bright orange lettering.

"Looks to be headed for the southern continent – Nakroli ruins, most like," a blue-eyed warrior stood at the base of his throne, consulting his own read-out from his omni-tool. He stood in burnished war-gear of gunmetal grey, bulky despite his relative youth.

"Hmph," Wrex grunted. "Ready a company for drop," he gestured to his lieutenant, red eyes meeting steeled blue, "get down there and make sure she lives through whatever idiocy this Nakmor clown talked her into."

"Heh," the subordinate laughed, "you worry too much, old man," he grinned as he turned to leave.

"Grunt," Wrex barked, stopping the younger krogan. "You know who she is – what she represents."

The young krogan tensed under the glare of his Overlord, grinding his teeth together. "Shepard was more than the savior of our people and the Slayer of Reapers, old man," he paused, nodding to him as he slammed an armored fist to his chest. "She was my _friend."_

"Get it done," Wrex nodded back.

* * *

The giant carcass of the worm below stretched for nearly seventy meters into the darkness, crawling with beetles. The three of them hunkered behind a rocky outcropping above, watching and listening to them scuttle and feed, ripping morsels of flesh with razor sharp pincers and gouts of corrosive slime.

Valyria nearly gaged from the stench of foulness flooding the air, thick enough to taste.

"They'll strip this old mother in less than a day," Arjax grunted beside her, "scurry it off a piece at a time back to their nest."

She could hear his grin coloring his words.

"See their horns?"

She peeked over the boulders. "Yes."

"That's what we're here for –"

"I _hate_ spiders," Crichton interrupted, "why'd it have to be _spiders_?"

"Shut it," Arjax growled at him.

"There's dozens of the things down there," Crichton shot back, "each of 'em bigger than you are. How the hell are we supposed to kill all of them?"

"By doing what I say," Arjax shook his head, "whiny meat-sack," he added, rolling his eyes.

The cavern shook with a modest tremor suddenly.

"What was that," Valyria whispered, eyes darting around the gloom.

"Maw, most likely," Arjax shrugged.

"What the shit," Crichton hissed.

" _Quiet_ ," Arjax racked his shotgun. "Watch."

The beetles worked into a frenzy as the cavern shook again, spidery limbs impaling rock with ease as they scattered about in all directions. One of them was charging right towards their hiding spot. Valyria saw the krogan grin, jabbing a clawed digit at its armored form.

"We bring it down quick – or else risk facing the maw," he grinned, mounting the wall of rock with a grunt. "Oh, and if you die, I get your stuff."

Valyria shook her head, climbing up to join him.

"Yeah, I'll stay here, thanks," Crichton muttered, stretching out prone as he readied his rifle.

"Whatever," Arjax dismissed him, watching the beetle get closer, nearly right below them.

"Keep the rest off us," Valyria nodded to the human.

"You're both insane, you know that right," he told them as they leapt into the darkness.

Their boots hit the rocky floor with dull thuds, right in the charging path of the beetle – a solid ton of armored insectoid. Glossy black armor glinted in the gloom, bladed limbs flashing as they blurred, each one piercing into the rock as it ran at them, screeching.

"Hah, c'mon," Arjax roared, hefting his shotgun. His first blast blew a hole through one of its limbs, nearly severing it. Dark ichor sprayed from the wound as the beetle reared, mandibles flaring as it roared.

Valyria charged the opening – the bright streak of her biotics illuminating the cave like a signal flare. She hit with crashing force, the creature's legs struggling for purchase as it skidded backwards. Her sword flashed as it arced, slashing in a horizontal sweep that severed one of its pincers, painting her in black gore.

Then she was flying – tumbling, the breath knocked from her as she rolled to a stop. The pain in her chest sent her reeling. _It struck before I even saw the blow coming,_ she realized.

"Bastards are quick," Arjax laughed, unloading round after round. "Get up," he barked. The beetle scurried back, lunging for an attack only to be blasted back by the krogan's shotgun. "C'mon!"

She got to her feet as her barrier went up again, leveled her Tempest and opened up – bright rounds punching into its armored chest and thorax in a throaty staccato of fire.

It was bleeding, limping, but still fighting as another tremor shook the cavern – a steady rumble that only seemed to grow louder this time.

"Shit, shit, shit," she heard Crichton from above, as she weaved aside from a blade-limb strike. She threw a wall of force at it, rocking it aside to smash into the cliff face. It staggered, and she slashed another limb at an angled joint in an overhead strike.

"Guys, we got company," he warned between the sharp retorts of his rifle.

"Yeah, yeah," Arjax barked back as he reloaded, watching the beetle topple and hiss. It was bleeding profusely, yet still screeching and lashing out with its legs as spears. "We're almost done."

Valyria turned, watching as the rolling mass of a giant worm punched through the wall of the cavern, slamming into the blurry form of a fleeing beetle with its mouth stretched wide. The beetle disappeared as the worm hit the opposite side, flowing through the rock like water.

 _Goddess,_ she thought, as the beetle's final defiant screeches ended with the throaty concussion of a shotgun.

Arjax moved to the twitching creature, holstering his shotgun as he pulled a barbed blade from his shin. "Nice," he growled, as he hacked his trophy free.

"Hurry up, we need to move," Valyria hissed as she reloaded her Tempest, flicking blackened ooze from the muzzle.

"Yeah, before that fucking maw comes back for seconds," Crichton agreed.

Arjax grunted as he ripped the only undamaged horn free from the beast with a satisfied laugh, tucking it under his arm as he turned to the asari with a grin. "Not bad," he nodded to her.

"You're insane," she shook her head at him. "Lets go before –"

Arjax' chest exploded with bright orange gore as the bladed spear of the beetle burst through him. His trophy fell as he crashed to his knees, vomiting viscera and gurgling incoherently.

She moved in the same instant, swinging her Tempest up and unloading into the thing's whining maw, shredding it to a pulpy mass of liquified blood and chitin. Before the body settled she took a step and swung her blade down, cleaving the leg impaled into Arjax' back.

"The lift's going up," Crichton shouted between shots, the _crack_ of his rifle reverberating through the cavern.

"Arjax is hurt," she answered, trying to help the wounded krogan to his feet and failing with a curse. "I'm sending him up." She reached out with her biotics – wrapping him in a glowing aura of purplish energy – and lifted him up.

"There's more comin' – I can't hit them all," Crichton called back. " _Get out of there_!"

She wrapped a blood slicked glove around Arjax' prize before shealthing herself in energy – leaping for safety as the beetles descended upon their wounded kin – fresh meat for the nest.

(A/N: I struggled with this chapter for awhile; special thanks to The Illusive Author for helping me through it - kudos amigo)


	8. Chapter 8

_This is crazy,_ the thought repeated through his mind as he knelt next to the dying krogan – rifle held under his left palm, elbow resting on his knee – firing as fast as he could reload. Arjax was still conscious somehow _,_ lifting his heavy shotgun with one trembling fist, the other clutched at the fleshy spear protruding through his chest – as he grunted with every throaty blast.

Valyria stood at their side, her weapons discarded at her feet as she reached out with both hands wreathed in biotic energy – struggling to maintain the protective bubble of warding energy surrounding them. It was all that stood between them and a horde of angry bloodthirsty insects.

 _Not how I imagined going out - eaten alive by a swarm of rabid spiders and a goddamn giant worm,_ he couldn't help the smirk that split his face. He'd have laughed if it wasn't so goddamn insane.

"Can't…keep this up…much longer," Valyria groaned through clenched teeth, her body shuddering under every charging strike of the insects surrounding them. They threw themselves at her shield in waves, limbs hissing as they scraped and clawed, shrieking all the while. They were pushing her barrier back, second by second.

Crichton glanced over his shoulder at the lift as he reloaded. The doors were still sealed.

"We're so fucked," he muttered.

The krogan spat a wad of orangish blood from his mouth where he sat, propped up against the door. "Hnnh," he grunted – unable to keep his shotgun leveled any longer – "good…fight," he hacked. "Good death…," his voice trailed off as his eyes rolled up into his head, body going limp.

Crichton fought the urge to kick him in the face. _Idiot._ "Jax is out. I'm running low on ammo," he said instead. He guessed they'd last all of about thirty seconds before the damned bugs ripped them to shreds – even less against the worm – once her shield fell. "We're gonna talk about this later," he promised her as he fired.

"Try the doors again," Valyria grunted as another beetle threw itself at them from above, jabbing down with all of its legs, attempting to impale her; the added weight to the assault driving her to one knee. " _Hurry_!"

Crichton turned as he dropped his rifle and pulled one of his pistols, cracking off shots as he sought the grime-coated control panel to the lift. "Hang on," he told her. _We're so fucked._

* * *

He squeezed one last shot off – his aim ruined by the blood in his eyes and the weakness flooding his limbs. Cold numbness was spreading through him like a plague, sapping his strength and will. He was panting heavily; every ragged breath rewarded by agony as his mutilated chest flexed and contracted.

 _Won't be long now,_ he slurred to himself; his own thoughts were turning slow and slippery as varren shit. His vision swam, his eyes rolling as he looked to the human and asari – still fighting at his side.

 _Never…got the chance to thank her. Never even…knew her name,_ he thought bitterly as the grey creeping into his sight pulsed with his weakening hearts – pulling the darkness in to occlude all sight.

His shotgun slips from nerveless fingers.

Darkness.

His last conscious thought was of his father, all those years ago, telling him how he failed. Telling him how useless he was; how he could never prove himself worthy and how he would be left behind. _Andromeda was no place for untested youths_. He was exiled, abandoned. _Prove yourself to those who would wage war with weaklings,_ he had snarled with a dismissive gesture. _Your no son of mine._

* * *

Grunt shifted his weight in the lift, impatiently flicking the selector switch of the heavy assault cannon in his fists as it descended. He could hear the ruckus from below, and the tremors rumbling through the shaft made his plates itch. Four other warriors stood behind him, reading their weapons with growls and grunts.

"Hnnh," he sighed, "stupid lifts take too long."

"Could have just blasted our way in," one of his men chuckled.

"Orbital strike," another drawled, grinning.

"Nah, we should have just dropped him in," the last waved at Grunt, "then came back in a few days to hose him down."

"Heh-heh-heh," Grunt laughed, rolling his shoulders. "Alright – look sharp – weapons free on my signal," he shouted as the shrieking grew louder. "This'll be fun," he added as the lift shuddered to a halt, flicking the selector switch one last time.

Purple light washed over them all as the lift doors opened on squealing hydraulics. His steel-blue eyes narrowed at the scene; the stench of blood flaring his nostrils. At his boots, a krogan fell back, leaking blood from the spike of a beetle-limb. A human crouched beside him, his grey eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh shit," the human laughed, eyes flicking to the weapons the krogan carried.

"Get him inside," Grunt pointed to the wounded krogan as he stepped past with his men, walking up to stand beside the struggling asari. "Form up," he barked at his men, hefting a massive rotary cannon in his armored fists. He grinned as the barrels cycled up with a high-pitched whine.

" _Weapons free."_

The cavern shook with thunder as they drowned the sea of living blades in heavy weapons fire. Beyond the shimmering bubble of energy, the horde of beetles roared as they were shredded and blasted apart. One of the krogan soldiers raised his shotgun with one hand at the insect still skittering on the top of the shield, blasting its face off with a single throaty bellow – laughing as its blood splattered his face and torso.

Grunt stood in the eye of the storm, panning his brutal cannon left and right, unable to stop grinning.

" _Charges,_ " he roared, and two of his warriors prepped and hurled twin packages up and over the mound of bleeding, smoking corpses far from sight. He gave their 'objective' a nudge with his boot as he fired, gaining her attention. " _Fall back,_ " he threw a nod over his shoulder towards the elevator.

The glow of her biotics faded as she slumped forwards, exhausted.

" _Now,"_ Grunt bellowed at her as his ammunition counter continued to fall in a rapid screed of data in the corner of his vision. Once she'd gathered up her weapons and got to her feet, he moved with her - step by step - the barrels of his cannon glowing cherry-red in the gloom.

The cavern rumbled as another maw burst through, unable to resist the scent of meat and blood. As the lift doors closed it barred its acid-drenched gullet at them as it dove towards the pile of bleeding beetle corpses, bellowing in a blast of rancid breath.

* * *

Valyria heaved in aching breaths as she crouched beside Arjax, unsure what to do. He lay on his side, orange fluid dripping from his wounds, spreading out in a pool beneath him. Her knowledge of krogan anatomy was woefully inadequate to provide anything but the most rudimentary aid – but she knew pulling the blade-limb from his body would likely cause more harm than good.

The lift shook violently around them suddenly, rocking them all into the walls and causing a few to stumble as the lights flickered overhead.

"Heh," one of the krogan laughed. "Charges blew."

"Bet that pissed those maws off," another commented as he reloaded his shotgun.

"It'll buy us time to evac – maws hunt by touch as much as scent – they'll burrow deep to clear their heads," a third, who carried an enormous cannon – told them. She looked up to him, aware that he was looking at her while addressing his men. His once chrome and gunmetal armor was nearly black, soaked with stinking ichor. He used a hand to clear it from his face and eyes.

She blinked at him, one arm cradling her damaged ribs with a grimace. "Are you of his clan," she asked, gesturing to Arjax.

The krogan leader shrugged his armored shoulders, glancing between her and Arjax. "Not sure – didn't come for him," he answered, cocking his head before turning away slightly and raising a hand to his head. "Package secured – we're coming up. Prep for dust-off," he ordered.

 _Package? What package,_ Valyria felt her brow crease in confusion. "Who are you?"

The krogan leader worked the tension out of his neck, spitting a wad of blackened saliva from his mouth before turning back to fix her with steel-blue eyes. "I'm Grunt," he nodded, then gestured to his men, "Wrex sent us to get you."

"Wrex…as in… _Overlord Urdnot Wrex_ ," Crichton piped up, confusion coloring his words.

"Yeah," Grunt confirmed, "that's him."

"Oh shit," Crichton laughed.

Valyria looked to the human, who crouched on his haunches as he shook his head, chuckling to himself. "What could possibly be so amusing," she snapped at him – his sense of humor was beyond baffling.

His grey eyes held little amusement. "Trouble just follows you around like a damn plague doesn't it."

She didn't have an answer for that.

"Heh," Grunt laughed, rolling his shoulders, "not surprising. Just like old times," he grinned at her.

She didn't know what to say to that either.

* * *

The krogan had taken Arjax in their howling troop-ship, leaving her and Crichton to follow in the _Farseer –_ back up into orbit to dock with the waiting leviathan of Wrex' command ship. Grunt had laughed when she asked him if they had violated some manner of krogan law – if there was such a thing.

' _The old man doesn't care about that shit,'_ he told her with a dismissive wave. ' _Though, most aliens avoid the place out of principle. Guess your not most aliens, eh? See you on the_ Conqueror.'

"Look," Crichton spoke up as he entered the cockpit, wiping black gunk from his face, smearing the stinking fluid even more as he did. "I've had enough of this shit _. Who the hell are you_ ," he demanded, his voice pitched with accusation.

"I already told you Crichton," she replied calmly, trying to keep up with the drop-ship ahead.

" _Bull. Shit,"_ he fumed, moving up next to her seat. "You're wanted by the Asari, now the goddamn krogan – no one is _that_ hot without a long list of _really_ good reasons," he shook his head. "I leveled with you after the Citadel, I'd like a little reciprocation here."

Her brow creased at his choice of words as she tilted her head slightly. _Humans are so strange,_ she thought. "If they wanted to incarcerate us, I imagine they wouldn't have let us back on the ship," she said instead.

"I'm not worried about that crap," Crichton snapped.

"Then what is your concern," she fired back.

" _You,"_ he nearly roared, then took a deep breath to calm himself as he leaned back against the bulkhead. "I don't get you," he admitted, quietly. "What the hell are you thinking? Throwing yourself – and me – into that idiocy back there for a krogan you barely _knew_? And who was that turian who tipped you off about the council? Now we're being rescued by no less than the goddamn _Overlord_ of the entire krogan Dominion," he laughed at the absurdity of it all, flapping his arms for emphasis. "What's next, a fucking _Reaper_ gonna show up and make nice?"

She listened to him breathe for several heartbeats as her fingers danced over the controls. She didn't meet his eyes as they bore into her. "Are you finished," she asked coldly.

He took another breath, but kept his silence.

"I was trying to help Arjax," she glanced at him, "because he had suffered a great deal. The turian was an old friend of my mothers, who was trying to help me – who barely knows _me."_ She emphasized the irony at work, in spite of his outburst. "As for the krogan," she nodded to the enormous ship growing ever larger in the void beyond the cockpit, "I do not pretend to understand their motives. Perhaps if you calm down, we can learn what they want and not provoke them to making our situation worse."

Crichton laughed. "You have no idea what you're doing."

She resisted the urge to throw him out of the cockpit with a burst of energy – clenching her teeth instead. "I'm trying," she hissed, snapping her eyes to his, "you are not helping."

Crichton shook his head, his face unreadable as his eyes fell.

"Just stay on the ship. I'll find out what they want," she told him.

Crichton snorted. "Fuck that – you'll probably get roped into something even more idiotic without me."

* * *

They were escorted to a wide central chamber of stone in the heart of the massive ship, built as a great gathering hall. Braziers burned along the walls, lighting the space in the glow of fire, illuminating the dozens of battle standards emblazoned with the crimson fist sigil of the Dominion. At the far end of the hall, two krogan stood upon a wide elevated platform, waiting.

The larger one was by far the biggest krogan she had ever seen, clad in layered plate of blood-red. The other was smaller, slender; _a female,_ she realized – clad in dark robes that obscured most of her features – yet her eyes blazed with intensity as they drew near.

It all seemed… _archaic,_ to Valyria's eyes.

She stood with Crichton before the pair, listening to the thudding tread of the guards as they retreated.

The female spoke first, after taking a step closer to her. "In all the possible fates I never imagined this would come to pass," her whispered voice echoed as she lowered her head, yellow eyes wide with unknown emotion. She held her hands out, taking Valyria's in a gentle touch. "Welcome, child," she added softly.

Valyria stood transfixed, utterly surprised by her tone and reverence.

"I…thank you," she managed.

"You have her eyes," the krogan breathed, barely audible, before turning to the crimson armored behemoth at her side. "It is true," she told him in a strong voice as she nodded.

"Hmph," he grunted, shrugging his shoulders. "From what Grunt said, I'm not surprised – that stunt in the caves sounds like the sort of crap _she_ would have pulled," he laughed. "Shepard always loved to stir shit up."

Valyria felt her eyes narrow at the enormous krogan. "You knew her," it wasn't a question.

"Knew who," Crichton spoke up, clearly confused.

Both of the krogan turned their eyes to him, narrowed and bristling as if ready to strike. "You humans have short memories – but we krogan remember," he snarled, pounding a fist against his chest.

"Not everyone lives for centuries," Crichton reminded them with a shrug, "I meant no offense."

"You wouldn't be breathing here in ignorance if it wasn't for Shepard, _whelp_ ," the krogan retorted with a wave, "be silent."

Valyria turned to meet Crichton's eyes, his face drawn into a mask of anger. "My parents fought in the Reaper War," she began.

"Your parents did more than _fight,"_ the female interrupted.

"Damn strait," the male added with a nod. " _Grunt, Mordin,_ " he bellowed suddenly, " _get in here!_ "

From the side entrances of the hall, the two named krogan marched in. Valyria recognized Grunt, his armor hastily cleansed of the foul beetle's blood for the most part. At his side, a similarly young-looking krogan with blaring red eyes grumbled under his breath as he walked, making Grunt grin.

"Overlord," Grunt nodded, followed by a guttural growl of 'father' by his charge.

"Take this pyjack to the hall of trophies," the krogan leader jerked his head to Crichton. "Educate him on the glories of the past."

"Hnnh," Grunt shook his head, "fine, but I want a word with _her_ first," he gestured towards Valyria.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves. She doesn't even know who we are," the female spoke up as Crichton started to object.

"Impossible," the Overlord shrugged, " _everyone_ knows who I am," he laughed.

"I can assume you are Urdnot Wrex," Valyria spoke, gesturing to him, "and I know this one to be called Grunt, who you sent to find us."

Wrex nodded, folding his arms over his chest as he spoke. "That's right," he nodded to the female, "and this is Bakara, chief shaman of Urdnot," he paused as he lifted his chin to the younger krogan behind her. "That's Mordin, our first-born son."

Grunt shrugged his shoulders, confusion narrowing his eyes as he cocked his head. "How is it she doesn't know us? Is she broken," he tapped his head as he directed his words to Wrex, who nodded.

"Good questions," he growled, eyeing Valyria.

"My mother kept many secrets from me," she let her eyes fall as she shook her head. "I do not know why."

"You weren't the only one," Wrex huffed, turning to pace the length of the platform as he continued. "I'm sure there's a reason for it, but this is beyond anything I thought Liara capable of. Now, Garrus tells me Tevos is after you – ancestors know what for – and you haven't got the slightest clue about where you truly came from. Sound about right," he stopped, leveling his gaze at her.

Valyria took a deep breath. "I know my father loved her. I know she died to save her," she answered.

Crichton shook his head suddenly. "Your father…," his voice trailed off as he struggled to finish the thought.

Valyria nodded. "Commander Valerie Shepard."

"Shit," he breathed.

"Yeah," Grunt chuckled, "she probably woulda shot you by now," he grinned wide at Crichton.


	9. Chapter 9

Valyria stood before the mangled remains of a trophy displayed at the far end of the wide hall, gazing at her reflection in the large circular lens. Its glossy surface was cracked, the strange metallic material of its housing components were blackened and pitted, scratched and dented. Broken and lifeless appendages lay beneath its great dead eye, their function beyond her understanding.

It was monstrous, even in death. She felt a chill race up her spine, her unease growing with every passing second.

 _A Reaper,_ she thought. _How could such a thing be killed?_

"Shepard summoned Kalros to kill that on Tuchanka," a low, quiet voice spoke. Wrex' son, Mordin. She glanced at him as he joined her. His resemblance to his father was obvious; glaring red eyes under a thick brow, hard orangish skin, his bulky mass layered with armor the color of blood. He was already big, despite his age – and Wrex had called him _whelp._

 _How could something so big move so quietly,_ she wondered.

Wrex and Bakara had given them leave to explore the ship. Crichton had chosen to return to the _Farseer_ , seemingly put off after their short conversation with the Krogan leaders. She had been wandering this hall of remembrance for nearly an hour, alone save for the few guards posted, who paid her no mind.

"Kalros is a maw," Mordin answered her unspoken question with a nod, " _the_ maw."

Valyria took a deep breath, lost for words. _What other impossible acts did she achieve?_

"I am overwhelmed," she confessed, as her eyes fell.

The young krogan shrugged. "Why," he asked. "You descend from the strongest line of warriors the galaxy has ever known, just like me," he grinned.

Valyria shook her head. "I do not feel strong. I feel… _crushed_ ," she gestured to her broken reflection, "under the expectations of living up to such a legend."

The krogan laughed, a gun-shot bark that echoed through the hall. "Impossible," he crossed his arms over his chest. "We live to remember their deeds – not surpass them." He spoke as if the very idea was simply ludicrous.

 _Perhaps,_ she thought. "I am beginning to understand why my mother never spoke of such things."

His face pulled into a scowl as he turned to face her. "What? Why," he asked, clearly confused.

"Because I feel lost, and alone," she hugged herself tighter – knowing that he probably wouldn't understand but unable to hide her emotions any longer. "And I don't know what to do with this," she gestured to her surroundings with one hand, as the other cleared stinging tears from her eyes.

"I'm not like her," she whispered, "I'm nobody."

"Hnnh," Mordin growled. "Maybe – maybe not," he shrugged. "You're tougher than you look, going into that skittar nest."

She scoffed as she shook her head. "That was foolish."

Mordin laughed. "Yeah, but you're still breathing, and were holding your own – regardless what Grunt said," he shook his head. "He's a glory hog," he muttered.

She smiled at his words, despite herself. "Yes, I suppose."

"C'mon," he gestured for her as he turned to leave. "There's something else you should see."

"Alright," she sniffed, glancing back at the Reaper remains one last time before walking off to join him.

* * *

He turned over his shoulder before the doors opened, flashing a toothy grin at her. "Don't let them swarm you," he chuckled, "they're young enough to think you might be food."

Before she could answer, the door hissed open. Noise and the scent of spoiled milk assaulted her at once, along with the overwhelming sense of _thousands_ of eyes upon her.

 _Oh, Goddess,_ she thought.

A great wide cavern stretched out before her, seeming to run the entire length of the ship. A living tide of Krogan dominated the scene; an ocean of little naked Krogan, clustered around adults, being fed, pushing and biting each other, wailing and growling.

"This," Mordin gestured before him, "is Shepard's _true_ legacy."

Valyria covered her gaping mouth with her hands. _Goddess, they're adorable!_

Little pudgy krogan chased each other around her, no higher than her knees. They barked and growled, wrestled and pushed. A pile of them slept off to her left, snoring as their little bodies huddled together. Two off to her right were throwing rocks at each other – breaking them against their heads and barking laughs.

She grinned despite the noise and odors, utterly amazed.

"How old are they," she shouted to Mordin.

He moved closer so she could hear. "Most are a few weeks. We keep the infants separated, until their hides harden."

"Incredible," she breathed as she shook her head. "How do you manage them all?"

Mordin laughed. "Hell if I know. Ask them if you really want to know," he gestured to the few adults in view, surrounded by the horde of younglings. "I figured this would explain things to you easier," he shrugged. "My father told me how things were for us before Shepard saved us. Without her – and my father," he shrugged again as his voice trailed off.

She nodded, smiling as a little one waddled up to her. It blinked wide blue eyes up at her as it cocked its head in puzzlement, then barked before sitting down with a _thump._

"Hello there," she waved to it as she approached, bending down to grasp a flailing claw.

"Careful," Mordin laughed.

No sooner had its fat, pudgy digits wrapped around her finger, the little krogan pulled her hand strait into its mouth.

* * *

Wrex leaned back in his throne as he ran a clawed hand over his face. "You're shitting me, right," he asked incredulously. "The boy's untested – he's not ready."

Bakara nodded her hooded head sagely. "All the more reason to send him out into the wider world – to temper him, to expand his knowledge and strength."

Wrex shook his head. "If we're doing this, I'd rather send someone who –"

"Isn't your son," Bakara laughed, "good luck with that."

He glared at her as a grin crept across his face. "Point taken," he laughed. "Still, the fact remains," he turned serious again, "he's untested. Besides, Grunt will want to go."

"Grunt," she replied, meeting his eyes, "will do as you say."

Wrex groaned as he stood, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. "Was this your idea, or his," he asked.

She blinked as she cocked her head up at him. "Does it matter, Wrex?"

"Hnnh," he grunted. "I'll talk to her – see what she thinks about it."

Bakara nodded. "Very well, _Overlord,_ " she grinned as she winked at him.

"Don't get any ideas," he grumbled as he seated himself. "I'm still sore from that last group of females you sent me."

She laughed as she walked away.

* * *

He found them standing before one of the dropships in the hangar bay, talking under one of the bulky munition pods attached to a backswept fuselage. Mordin was gesturing to the craft as he spoke – rambling on about the gunships weapons.

 _Heh, boy does like to talk,_ he shook his head with a grin. "Hey," he called out, grabbing their attention.

"What," Mordin asked, followed by a polite greeting from Shepard's daughter. He liked her immediately – she reminded him of Liara's calming influence and his Battlemaster's fiery tenacity. He grinned warmly down at her. "Been looking for you two."

"Well you found us, Grunt. He said she could look around, so she has," Mordin gestured to Valyria.

"I know that, smartass," he snapped. _Annoying brat._ "Wrex wants to talk, _again_ ," he jerked his head back towards the lift.

"Is something wrong," Valyria asked, concern crossing her face.

Grunt shrugged his shoulders. "Don't think so, but its hard to tell with the old fossil."

Mordin shook his head, muttering something about being treated like a pet varren as he stomped off, pausing when the others didn't move to follow.

"You coming?"

"Give us a minute," Grunt answered.

"Thank you for the tour, Mordin, and…for talking to me," Valyria nodded to him.

"See ya up top," he replied with a grin.

"He's a good kid," Grunt nodded as Mordin left. "Bit mouthy though," he added with a chuckle.

Valyria smiled at his expression, unsure of the meaning behind his words. "I want to thank you again, for your timely rescue."

"That was fun! I love that cannon," his eyes closed as if remembering the feeling of it in his hands. "Hnnh, wish I could use it more often," he grinned. "We don't get much in the way of fights anymore – the strongest foes are all dead."

He watched as uncertainty flashed in her eyes – eyes that reminded him of Shepard more than he wanted to admit. The first time he saw that shade of green, he had her pinned to the wall – ready to choke the life from her. _Human. Female. Before you die, I need a name._ He grinned at the memory.

"Was there something you wished to discuss," Valyria's voice pulled him back to the present.

He nodded as he pulled the cloth-wrapped bundle from a compartment on his thigh plate, regarding it with reverence for a moment – then handed it to her.

"This was Shepard's. She carried it into every battle – including the last one. I found it when we…found her."

He watched as she carefully lifted the cloth, revealing the scorched and blackened Carnifex pistol.

"Its too small for me to use," he nodded to her, "and it belongs with you, anyway."

"I…this was _hers_ ," the girl asked, eyes wide as she turned the weapon over in her gloved hands.

"Yeah," Grunt nodded. "I pried it from her hand myself. I don't know what happened that day, but I know this – she died _fighting,_ " he slammed his fists together as he stressed the word.

Valyria nodded, unable to express anything more. He didn't seem to know that she had survived - barely - for several weeks after the Reapers' defeat. _Perhaps he assumed she had already died? Did mother tell them that?_ More questions to ask her mother's ghost, stored for eternity in the Compendium.

"Thank you."

Grunt grinned, despite the girls somber mood. "Sure thing. C'mon," he shrugged, wary of the emotions nagging at his brain, "lets go see what the old man wants."

Valyria locked the pistol to her left thigh-plate, pausing to run her fingertips across its scarred surface. "Yes," she sighed, biting her lips to reign in her emotions. "Lets go."

* * *

Garrus shivered in his chair as he watched the stars peek through the vastness of the nebula beyond the Citadel. A low hum rattled from his throat as he pulled his blankets tighter around his frail form – he was freezing, despite the climate controlled air. He hated to admit it but the only thing capable of keeping him warm was the same thing his doctors warned him repeatedly not to use – alcohol.

 _Idiots,_ he grunted, taking another sip of brandy.

He liked this spot on the docks – it served as a reminder of _happier_ days.

 _Well,_ his mandibles twitched in amusement, _perhaps happy is the wrong word._

Bay D-24 was gone – ravaged by the Crucible explosion and never re-built. The _Normandy_ was a relic preserved for posterity up on the Presidium. Most of his friends from those days were gone.

He glanced down at his withered talons, grasping his bottle in a shaking grip.

 _Soon enough, I'll be joining them._

He hoped it wasn't much longer of a wait. Retirement didn't suit him. He was tired of feeling old, useless.

His mind reached back, seeing his friend's face set in grim determination as he spoke. _Go out there, and give them hell – you were born for this fight._

 _Ah, Shepard,_ he wheezed a sigh at the memory. _Can't wait to see you again, old friend._

"Hello, Garrus," a soft, familiar voice broke his revere.

She hadn't aged a day since the last time he saw her – though the scars across her crest and face were new. She wore tight, form fitting armor that clung to her lithe body with tenacity – the leather creaked slightly with every sway of her hips.

He had always assumed Samara had never intentionally provoked sensual feelings in others – but the way she moved told him otherwise.

Or perhaps he really _was_ going senile with old age.

"Justicar," he nodded, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. "Business, or pleasure," he asked, watching her approach.

She rarely smiled, even back in the old days, so he wasn't surprised when she simply inclined her head.

"It pleases me to see you, yet whether that becomes mutual remains to be seen," she answered cryptically.

"We're a little old for beating around the bush," Garrus eyed her as he settled back in his chair.

A faint curl of her lips preceded a curt nod. "Very well. You know what I am, what I represent. I seek information – or clarification, more like," she spoke calmly as she clasped her hands behind her back. "A rumor has reached me, and a purpose; one I hope ends amicably for all involved."

"Interesting," Garrus wheezed, "but I'm not hearing a question in there."

"You violated Shepard's tomb," she stated it as cold truth, yet offered no judgement. "Tell me why."

"I don't –"

"Do not endanger our mutual respect with falsehoods, Garrus," she warned.

He hacked a laugh, which turned to a fit of coughs. The Asari looked away as he struggled to regain his composure, offering no pity or empathy.

"If you know I did it," he managed to rasp, "then you know _why_."

Samara took a deep breath, nodding to herself. "Where did she go, Garrus," she asked, fixing him with her pale blue eyes.

His mandibles flickered as he took another sip to ease the hoarseness in his throat. "Why do you want to know," he cocked his head as he met her gaze.

"I am investigating her legitimacy."

"What? Why?"

The Justicar paused, returning her gaze out to the nebula. "We Asari hold many laws and customs as sacred, Garrus. Most would be familiar to you – others are more…obscure to those outside our society. There are doubts regarding the child, Garrus," she turned to face him once more. "Doubts that have put her in danger. I seek to find the answers first – and if judgement must be made," she dipped her head, "I hope to honor the memory of Shepard by being the one to render it."

Garrus shook his head. "You gotta be kidding me," he growled. "She's just a damned girl. What possible threat could she be?"

Samara cocked her head as her lips curled again. "A child born of humanity's greatest soldier and one of my peoples brightest minds," she asked rhetorically.

"She's no threat to anyone Justicar," he forced what little strength he could manage into every word.

"That, also, remains to be seen," she replied coldly. "Where, Garrus," she asked again.

He huffed a weak laugh. _Well, might as well finish this off right_ , he thought, downing the rest of the bottle.

"I can tell you two things," he hacked, wiping his mouth of brandy and spittle, "one – never start off an interrogation from a place of friendship, and two," he paused, raising glacial eyes to hers – rendered even colder for the fact that she stood there _watching_ him with nothing but earnest respect, even admiration. Samara knew him – knew he would _never_ betray Shepard, or Liara, or anyone he deemed worthy enough to call him _friend._

"Your not getting _shit_ from me."


	10. Chapter 10

The krogan Overlord leaned forward on his throne as they entered the command deck, dismissing one of his men with a nod before turning to face them as they approached. His talons drummed the stone surface of an armrest as he settled back - playing every part of the impatient warlord.

Valyria wondered just how much of his daily appearance played out to the expectation of others. _Heavy is the head that wears the crown,_ she mused. She certainly didn't envy Wrex' burdens. _To live under such crushing responsibility,_ she nearly grimaced at the thought. _No, thank you._

Wrex dominated the scene – his throne sat at the pinnacle of a raised dais, surrounded by humming workstations devoted to the smooth operation of the _Conqueror_ and the wider workings of the Dominion itself. From this room, it seemed, he ensured the future of his people.

She felt a moment of self-consciousness; the only non-krogan, standing at the heart of their realm. _I wouldn't be here if he didn't want me to be,_ she told herself, trying to shake the feeling loose.

"About time – this ain't a luxury cruise," he growled, mostly to his son, Mordin, who answered in kind.

"Apologies, Overlord. Mordin was showing me the…achievements…of your people," she spoke up in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

His red eyes flicked from hers to the pistol on her hip and back. "Hnnh," he grunted. "Good. Shows he was paying attention at least _some_ of the time during his lessons," he grinned at her. "Heard you got nibbled on," he laughed. "Welcome to _my_ world."

She smiled at the memory as she nodded. "I was warned," she admitted.

"Ankle-biters," she heard Grunt mutter off to the side. Mordin grinned toothily next to him.

"It pleases me to see you here, comfortable with us," Wrex nodded his head. "If I'd had it my way, you and Liara both would have been welcome with us," he shrugged, "but that's the past. Time to think about the future," he stood as he finished speaking, stomping toward her.

She nodded at his words, a small smile pulled at her lips. He made it difficult not to like him.

"The krogan you saved, Arjax, will live – he'll want to speak with you soon," he told her as he moved to stand before a large viewport; its edges looked chiseled from bare rock, the window perfectly clear. He regarded the stars beyond the turbulent globe of Tuchanka for a moment. "So, what'll it be, kid? What's your plan?"

When neither Mordin or Grunt moved, she joined him only after Grunt jerked his head for her to go. She considered the question and the view, as her fingers stroked the worn grip of her father's pistol – a new habit in the making.

"C'mon kid this ain't a test," Wrex lowered his head and voice as she drew near, as if sensing her uncertainty. "I know you've had it rough lately, but that's life. What comes next is what matters."

 _Krogan philosophy – blunt pragmatism at its finest,_ she thought as a ghost of a smile curled her lips.

"I have the means to go where I please, but without purpose," she admitted quietly. "I have no interest in pursuing my mother's work though," she added quickly with a grimace. "I've seen enough Prothean relics already."

Wrex chuckled. "Yeah, was never a fan of them myself – I blame Javik for that though," he paused as he ran his tongue over his teeth, like he was trying to rid a foul taste from it. "That guy was a special case of asshole."

Valyria frowned as she cocked her head at him in confusion. "Who?"

"Nevermind," he waved, "he's dead anyway. Back to the topic at hand."

Valyria sighed. "I don't know. Part of me wants to just," she nodded to the void, "pick a direction and never stop."

"Hah. That's your mother talking," he grinned, "what about the other part?"

"To make a difference. To help."

The ancient krogan nodded, a gleaming look of satisfaction in his eye.

" _That,_ " he gripped her shoulder warmly, "sounds like the beginnings of a plan."

She smiled at his infectious enthusiasm. "You have something in mind?"

"Sure," he laughed, "I got all sorts of _crap_ to deal with, and you got time to kill – so why not? Wanna help an old krogan out?"

She nodded without hesitation. "Of course. What do you need?"

Wrex scratched at his head plate as he answered. "Hell, _everything_ – good worlds to colonize, food, eezo, resources," he shrugged. "Most of that we find for ourselves, but it'd help things along if the other races took trading with us seriously," he growled.

"The _Farseer_ is a surveyor. There is telemetry data for dozens of worlds in its databanks," she offered.

Wrex nodded. "I appreciate that. I wont ask you to play diplomat for us either – dealing with those robed _pyjacks_ sitting on their asses on the Citadel is my burden to carry. What I need is a fast, independent ship willing to bail my colonies out in times of need. I need help in the Traverse, I need someone to get that bitch Aria to deal strait with me."

"I don't know who that is," she confessed, "or why anyone would risk the ire of the krogan," she added quietly.

Wrex laughed. "We're tough, sure, but the War took a great deal from our fighting strength," he paused, gesturing to the ship around them. "This ship is only one of a dozen combat worthy – and packed with kids and civilians, not warriors," he shook his head. "Don't tell anyone that though," he added with a wink.

She folded her arms despite his tone of nonchalance. "What can I do then," she shrugged, "I'm no soldier, Overlord."

"Hnnh," he grunted at her formality. "your mother claimed the same thing," he grinned. "Didn't stop her from warping anyone's face off that stood in Shepard's way."

"I'm sure," she agreed. "But I'm not my parents, Wrex. I have to make my own way."

"We can help you with that," the Overlord nodded.

* * *

Crichton lay sprawled out on the bed in the _Farseer_ 's second cabin – dreaming of chasing a girl through a tall corn field. She was young, blonde, giggling as she ran, forever just out of reach. Bright blue eyes flashed in the sunlight, a heartbeat in time, before vanishing under golden locks as she turned away.

A sharp poke to his chest wrenched him back into the waking world. "Ow," he mumbled, pressing a hand to the site on instinct.

He had slept in his armor, for lack of anything else to wear. It _still_ hurt. When he raised his sleep-crusted eyes, he saw why.

Arjax stood above him, the business end of his skittar horn gripped in one fist – aimed at his chest.

"You mind," he grumbled.

"Where's Valyria?"

"Hell if I know," he swatted the pointy object away as he sat up. "Probably wandering around the ship with your Overlord," he guessed through a yawn.

Arjax nodded, seeming to consider it. Crichton noticed he was quite… _calmer_ , than usual; alarmingly civil even. He watched as the krogan scratched absentmindedly at the fissure between his chest plates in silence.

"You alright," Crichton asked as he gestured to the krogan's chest.

"Still stings a bit," Arjax shrugged. He was bereft of armor from the waist up, a long vivid scar ran the length of his chest – a valley between plates. "Just on the insides, you know?"

"Uh, no – no I don't," he shook his head with a smirk. "Pretty sure I'd be dead from a wound like that."

"Whatever. If she comes here, tell her I need to speak to her," he said, turning to leave.

"Sure thing, pal," Crichton shrugged. _Guess I was wrong – he's still an asshole._

Arjax stopped after a few steps. "Thanks, for before," the big krogan growled over his shoulder, before moving on. If he expected a response, he didn't wait for one.

Crichton listened to his stomping tread, wondering what the hell happened to him. _Maybe death knocked some sense into him,_ he smirked. Then he remembered that Arjax never seemed to know or care who Valyria _was._

 _Oh, shit,_ he realized. Scrambling to his feet, he set off in pursuit.

He didn't need to go far – his quarry stood at the base of the ship's loading ramp before Valyria and a group of krogan.

Crichton met her eyes levelly as he descended, seeing her in a new, unfamiliar light. Her heritage aside, he knew _something_ was differentabout her the moment he saw her – he just couldn't describe it, try as he might. It was like an aura of…calm? Confidence? _No,_ he frowned slightly. That didn't fit. _Innocence._

It had been a long time since he'd felt innocent.

"…I know now that I acted out of foolish pride," Arjax was saying as he approached. "Yet it was the pride of my people, of earning my place!"

"Hnnh," Wrex growled, "foolish _whelp._ Trust goes both ways, _idiot!"_

Arjax bristled, but kept his silence. Crichton felt like he was intruding into a family argument, but he couldn't stop watching. Arjax visibly _cowed_ before the enormous krogan leader.

"Give me a reason," Wrex stomped closer, his fists crackling with biotics as his temper flared, "explain how you led an uninitiated _outsider_ into the skittar nests – _without_ a shamans blessings. Or do clanless _whelps_ begin their own hunts these days?"

 _Clanless,_ Crichton cocked his head. _Arjax said he was Nakmor,_ he remembered. _Huh – was he lying?_

"I…have no excuse, Overlord," Arjax muttered, dipping his head. "I thought she was –"

"Enough," Valyria spoke, stepping between them. "Overlord," she looked to Wrex, "Arjax," she regarded the wounded krogan, "enough, please. Yes, you treated me harshly. Yes, you chose not to trust me with valuable information," she nodded. "Perhaps now you will? Because I chose to help you, before even _I_ knew the history shared between your people and my parents. I did it because I wanted to."

"I…I am sorry. I was…exiled. Left behind," Arjax refused to meet her eyes as he confessed quietly.

Wrex seemed to grow larger as he shook his head. "Not good enough. This _pyjack_ could have gotten you killed, and as Overlord of all krogan, his fate is _mine_ to decide," he warned Valyria.

"Speak my fate then," Arjax nodded, "it will be as you say. Honor demands it."

" _Honor,"_ Wrex spat the word as he shook his head again. "You know how many of us threw our lives away for that bullshit word, boy? Can you even _count_ that high," he snarled into the younger krogan's face. A meaty fist, easily the size of Crichton's head, jabbed a claw at Valyria.

" _Who is that,_ " Wrex roared. Crichton saw her flinch.

Arjax met his furious eyes. "Daughter of the Hero," he answered.

"Damn strait," Wrex growled, slamming his head plate into Arjax' eye for emphasis – the resulting _crunch_ and bark of pain from Arjax made Crichton wince. "See to it that you _remember_ that."

Arjax fell to one knee, clutching his bleeding, ruined eye with one claw.

"Get out of my sight," Wrex snarled down at him. "Give yourself to the shamans, see if they know what to do with you," he dismissed Arjax with a wave as he stomped past.

Crichton met Valyria's eyes in the silence that followed. The hurt and pain he saw there made him uncomfortable. He didn't disagree with Wrex – Arjax was an idiot who got what he deserved – but he could tell she didn't appreciate the krogan's harsh chastisement.

He looked away as Arjax pulled himself to his feet.

"I obey," he heard the krogan growl softly.

"Hah," Wrex barked a laugh, prompting them to snap their eyes to him. He stood under the nose of the _Farseer,_ pointing at it. "You raided a pirate base in _this_ thing?"

Crichton watched Valyria nod to Arjax in passing, before addressing the Overlord.

"Not exactly. I stole one of their gunships for that."

Wrex' laughter resounded through the hanger. "Not bad, kid. Lets see what we can do."

Crichton moved to her side, watching as she regarded the krogan with curiosity as they spread out – scrutinizing her mother's ship.

"What's going on," he asked her quietly.

She took a breath, shrugging as she exhaled. "Krogan hospitality," she waved to Wrex.

* * *

Given the nature of their conversation and its most likely conclusion, Garrus had suggested they take it to a more _private_ location. The Justicar had watched him closely, following his refusal to cooperate with her. Whatever thoughts or feelings that provoked were hidden well behind her cold eyes and stoic demeanor.

 _Like pulling blood from stone,_ Garrus commented on her outward façade of ice as his chair _whirred_ across the smooth tiled floor. She walked at his side down the corridor leading to his modest apartment, heels _clacking_ with every graceful stride.

The silence between them – pregnant with Garrus' animosity and Samara's zealotry – was broken only by Garrus' wheezing. His blood was up; his body betrayed his will to _act,_ forcing him to endure bouts of painful coughing fits powerful enough to make his vision swim.

The old turian grimaced as he wiped flecks of bluish fluid from his hand after the latest one.

The Justicar found her voice as they neared their destination, turning her pale eyes down to him. "What do you intend, Garrus," she asked calmly.

 _She's no fool. Centuries of investigative work and experience is no doubt screaming at her that this is a trap,_ he thought.

"Honestly," the agitation he felt colored the harmonics in his voice, dropping several octets, "I'm _hoping_ you see reason," he told her as he unlocked the door with a swipe of his omni.

"Your personal views on the matter are less than irrelevent," her tone altered slightly, revealing a hint of sadness or regret. "I had hoped you, of all people, would have understood."

He shook his head as he led her into the apartment. A wide sitting room opened beyond the small foyer, decorated sparsely with lounge sofas, a few art pieces, and a long narrow fireplace along the wall. Opaque blinds hid most of the view through the large windows.

He lit the fireplace with a flick of a talon across his omni after turning to face her, centered before it. "The difference between C-Sec and your order is beyond astronomical _Justicar,_ " he spat the title, "one enforces the law – bound to that same law. You," he nodded to her, "play judge, jury, and executioner, bound by an ancient code open to interpretation by _zealous fanatics_ ," he hacked as he finished, choking the last of the words out.

Samara blinked, but offered no other outward reaction.

He huffed, turning away from her with a dismissive gesture as he glided towards the bar. "We've never seen eye-to-eye, Samara. Hell, the only reason we're here talking instead of shooting each other is because of Shepard."

"Perhaps," she conceded, "yet here we are – talking, yet preparing to strike," she stated flatly.

Garrus froze as he reached for the concealed Predator pistol hidden under the bar.

"Its not there, Garrus," she told him. "I have taken the liberty of sweeping your dwelling of weapons while you were out on the docks."

His eye plates raised as he regarded her, mandibles twitching with a mix of outrage and amusement. "B and E? How's _that_ not a code violation," he wheezed at the weak jest.

"Enough, Garrus. Thinking to delay me with this…pointless confrontation…is a fallacy. You must see that."

His eyes found the framed picture of his family; his wife, no more than a decade gone, holding the shoulders of his son. _Those were happier times,_ he nodded, to the device he alone knew to be there.

"Yet you came here," he closed his eyes.

He heard her approach. "I have no wish to cause you harm – yet I will do what I must. My code demands it."

He relaxed between tics, shuddering under a hacking fit. "You'll rape my mind to get what you want," he whispered as he hung his head. It wasn't a question.

She seemed to pause, given his choice of words. "Your loyalty to the past is commendable, Garrus; I respect that. However, I cannot allow such sentimentality to impose my duty."

"Duty," he whispered the word, raising his eyes back to the picture. "Yes. _Archangel,"_ he spoke the command-code with all the strength he could muster.

There were those who claimed his _paranoia_ had grown to unhealthy levels over the course of his life – a symptom of his years of law enforcement, the War, of serving under Victus and dabbling in the highest echelons of the Turian government. He had never listened to them of course.

The second he uttered the code word, several things happened at once: the windows, doors and vents were sealed by retracted plates of armor – sealing them in. A small, circular portal centered in the ceiling of the room opened, a small, round device fell.

The turian made _Hades_ grenade was the latest anti-personnel fragmentary explosive. The miniature arming lights flashed from green to red rapidly as it fell to the floor with a _clunk._

"Run like hell, kid," he told the picture – before the apartment erupted in fire.


End file.
